/ 


From   a    Swedish 

Homestead 


From  a   SWEDISH 

Homestead 

By 

Selma  Lagerlof 

Translated  by 

Jessie    Brochner 


Garden  City  New  York 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1916 

5K 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,   PaGE   &   COMPANT 


A  LIST  of  the  STORIES 

Pag* 

The  Story  of  a  Country  House      ...  i 

^eens  at   KuNGAHALLA 135 

On  the  Site  of  the  Great  Kungahalla  .  135 

The  Forest  Queen 14I 

SiGRiD  Storrade 157 

ASTRID 172 

Old  Agnete 219 

The   Fisherman's   RiNG 23 1 

Santa  Caterina  of  Siena 257 

The  Empress's  Money-Chest 277 

The  Peace  of  God 291 

A  Story  from  Halstanas 309 

The  Inscription  on  the  Grave     .     .     .     .323 
The  Brothers 339 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

T 

The  Story  of  a  Country  House 


The  Story  of  a  Country  House 


IT  was  a  beautiful  autumn  day  towards  the 
end  of  the  thirties.  There  was  in  Upsala  at 
that  time  a  high,  yellow,  two-storied  house, 
which  stood  quite  alone  in  a  Httle  meadow  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town.  It  was  a  rather  desolate 
and  dismal-looking  house,  but  was  rendered  less 
so  by  the  Virginia-creepers  which  grew  there  in 
profusion,  and  which  had  crept  so  high  up  the 
yellow  wall  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  house  that 
they  completely  surrounded  the  three  windows 
on  the  upper  story. 

At  one  of  these  windows  a  student  was  sitting, 
drinking  his  morning  coffee.  He  was  a  tall, 
handsome  fellow,  of  distinguished  appearance. 
His  hair  was  brushed  back  from  his  forehead ;  it 
curled  prettily,  and  a  lock  was  continually  falling 
into  his  eyes.  He  wore  a  loose,  comfortable  suit, 
but  looked  rather  smart  all  the  same. 

His  room  was  well  furnished.  There  was  a 
good  sofa  and  comfortable  chairs,  a  large  writ- 
ing-table, a  capital  bookcase,  bur  hardly  any 
books. 

Before  he  had  finished  his  coffee  another  stu- 
dent entered  the  room.  The  new-comer  was  a 
[3] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

totally  different-looking  man.  He  was  a  short, 
broad-shouldered  fellow,  squarely  built  and 
strong,  ugly,  with  a  large  head,  thin  hair,  and 
coarse  complexion. 

'  Hede,'  he  said, '  I  have  come  to  have  a  serious 
talk  with  you.' 

'  Has  anything  unpleasant  happened  to  you? ' 

*  Oh  no,  not  to  me,'  the  other  answered ;  '  it  is 
really  you  it  concerns.'  He  sat  silent  for  a  while, 
and  looked  down.  '  It  is  so  awfully  unpleasant 
having  to  tell  you.' 

'  Leave  it  alone,  then,'  suggested  Hede. 

He  felt  inclined  to  laugh  at  his  friend's  solem- 
nity. 

'  I  can't  leave  it  alone  any  longer,'  said  his 
visitor.  '  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  you  long  ago, 
but  it  is  hardly  my  place.  You  understand?  I 
can't  help  thinking  you  will  say  to  yourself: 
"  There's  Gustaf  Alin,  son  of  one  of  our  cottagers, 
thinks  himself  such  a  great  man  now  that  he  can 
order  me  about."  ' 

*  My  dear  fellow,'  Hede  said,  '  don't  imagine  I 
think  anything  of  the  kind.  My  father's  father 
was  a  peasant's  son.' 

'  Yes,  but  no  one  thinks  of  that  now,'  Alin  an- 
swered. He  sat  there,  looking  awkward  and 
stupid,  resuming  every  moment  more  and  more 
of  his  peasant  manners,  as  if  that  could  help  him 
out  of  his  difficulty.  *  When  I  think  of  the  differ- 
ence there  is  between  your  family  and  mine,  I  feel 
as  if  I  ought  to  keep  quiet ;  but  when  I  remember 
that  it  was  your  father  who,  by  his  help  in  days 
gone  by,  enabled  me  to  study,  then  I  feel  that  I 
must  speak ' 

[4] 


ne  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

Hede  looked  at  him  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

'  You  had  better  speak  out  and  have  done  with 
it,'  he  said. 

'  The  thing  is,'  AHn  said,  '  I  have  heard  people 
say  that  you  don't  do  any  work.  They  say  you 
have  hardly  opened  a  book  during  the  four  terms 
you  have  been  at  the  University.  They  say  you 
don't  do  anything  but  play  on  the  violin  the 
whole  day ;  and  that  I  can  quite  believe,  for  you 
never  wanted  to  do  anything  else  when  you  were 
at  school  in  Falu,  although  there  you  were 
obliged  to  work.' 

Hede  straightened  himself  a  little  in  his  chair. 
Alin  grew  more  and  more  uncomfortable,  but  he 
continued  with  stubborn  resolution  : 

'  I  suppose  you  think  that  anyone  owning  an 
estate  like  Munkhyttan  ought  to  be  able  to  do  as 
he  likes — work  if  he  likes,  or  leave  it  alone.  If  he 
takes  his  exam.,  good ;  if  he  does  not  take  his 
exam.,  what  does  it  matter  ?  for  in  any  case  you 
will  never  be  anything  but  a  landed  proprietor 
and  iron-master.  You  will  live  at  Munkhyttan 
all  your  life.  I  understand  quite  well  that  is  what 
you  must  think.' 

Hede  was  silent,  and  Alin  seemed  to  see  him 
surrounded  by  the  same  wall  of  distinction  which 
in  Alin's  eyes  had  always  surrounded  his  father, 
the  Squire,  and  his  mother. 

'  But,  you  see,  Munkhyttan  is  no  longer  what  it 
used  to  be  when  there  was  iron  in  the  mine,'  he 
continued  cautiously.  '  The  Squire  knew  that 
very  well,  and  that  was  why  it  was  arranged  be- 
fore his  death  that  you  should  study.  Your  poor 
mother  knows  it,  too,  and  the  whole  parish  knows 
[5] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

it.  The  only  one  who  does  not  know  anything 
is  you,  Hede. ' 

'  Don't  you  think  I  know,'  Hede  said  a  little 
irritably,  '  that  the  iron-mine  cannot  be  worked 
any  longer  ?' 

'  Oh  yes,'  Alin  said,  *  I  dare  say  you  know  that 
much,  but  you  don't  know  that  it  is  all  up  with 
the  property.  Think  the  matter  over,  and  you 
will  understand  that  one  cannot  live  from  farm- 
ing alone  at  Vesterdalarne.  I  cannot  understand 
why  your  mother  has  kept  it  a  secret  from  you. 
But,  of  course,  she  has  the  sole  control  of  the 
estate,  so  she  need  not  ask  your  advice  about  any- 
thing. Everybody  at  home  knows  that  she  is 
hard  up.  They  say  she  drives  about  borrowing 
money.  I  suppose  she  did  not  want  to  disturb 
you  with  her  troubles,  but  thought  that  she  could 
keep  matters  going  until  you  had  taken  your  de- 
gree. She  will  not  sell  the  estate  before  you  have 
finished,  and  made  yourself  a  new  home.' 

Hede  rose,  and  walked  once  or  twice  up  and 
down  the  floor.    Then  he  stopped  opposite  Alin. 

'  But  what  on  earth  are  you  driving  at,  Alin  ? 
Do  you  want  to  make  me  believe  that  we  are  not 
rich  ?' 

'  I  know  quite  well  that,  until  lately,  you  have 
been  considered  rich  people  at  home,'  Alin  said. 
'  But  you  can  understand  that  things  must  come 
to  an  end  when  it  is  a  case  of  always  spending  and 
never  earning  anything.  It  was  a  different  thing 
when  you  had  the  mine.' 

Hede  sat  down  again. 

'  My  mother  would  surely  have  told  me  if  there 
were  anything  the  matter,'  he  said.  '  I  am  grate- 
[6] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

ful  to  you,  Alin ;   but  you  have  allowed  yourself 
to  be  frightened  by  some  silly  stories.' 

'  I  thought  that  you  did  not  know  anything,' 
Alin  continued  obstinately.  '  At  Munkhyttan 
your  mother  saves  and  works  in  order  to  get 
the  money  to  keep  you  at  Upsala,  and  to  make 
it  cheerful  and  pleasant  for  you  when  you  are  at 
home  in  the  vacations.  And  in  the  meantime  you 
are  here  doing  nothing,  because  you  don't  know 
there  is  trouble  coming.  I  could  not  stand  any 
longer  seeing  you  deceiving  each  other.  Her 
ladyship  thought  you  were  studying,  and  you 
thought  she  was  rich.  I  could  not  let  you  destroy 
your  prospects  without  saying  anything.' 

Hede  sat  quietly  for  a  moment,  and  meditated. 
Then  he  rose  and  gave  Alin  his  hand  with  rather 
a  sad  smile. 

'  You  understand  that  I  feel  you  are  speaking 
the  truth,  even  if  I  will  not  believe  you? 
Thanks.' 

Alin  joyfully  shook  his  hand. 

'  You  must  know,  Hede,  that  if  you  will  only 
work  no  harm  is  done.  With  your  brains,  you 
can  take  your  degree  in  three  or  four  years.' 

Hede  straightened  himself. 

'  Do  not  be  uneasy,  Alin,'  he  said ;  '  I  am 
going  to  work  hard  now.' 

Alin  rose  and  went  towards  the  door,  but  hesi- 
tated.   Before  he  reached  it  he  turned  round. 

'  There  was  something  else  I  wanted,'  he  said. 
He  again  became  embarrassed.  '  I  want  you  to 
lend  me  your  violin  until  you  have  commenced 
reading  in  earnest.' 

'  Lend  you  my  violin  ?  * 
[7] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'.Yes;  pack  it  up  in  a  silk  handkerchief,  and 
put  it  in  the  case,  and  let  me  take  it  with  me, 
or  otherwise  you  will  read  to  no  purpose.  You 
will  begin  to  play  as  soon  as  I  am  out  of  the 
room.  You  are  so  accustomed  to  it  now  you 
cannot  resist  if  you  have  it  here.  One  cannot 
get  over  that  kind  of  thing  unless  someone  helps 
one ;   it  gets  the  mastery  over  one.' 

Hede  appeared  unwilling. 

'  This  is  madness,  you  know,'  he  said. 

*  No,  Hede,  it  is  not.  You  know  you  have  in- 
herited it  from  the  Squire.  It  runs  in  your  blood. 
Ever  since  you  have  been  your  own  master  here 
in  Upsala  you  have  done  nothing  else  but  play. 
You  live  here  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  simply 
not  to  disturb  anyone  by  your  playing.  You 
cannot  help  yourself  in  this  matter.  Let  me  have 
the  violin.' 

'  Well,'  said  Hede^  '  before  I  could  not  help 
playing,  but  now  Munkhyttan  is  at  stake ;  I  am 
more  fond  of  my  home  than  of  my  violin.' 

But  Alin  was  determined,  and  continued  to  ask 
for  the  violin. 

'  What  is  the  good  of  it  ?  '  Hede  said.  '  If  I 
want  to  play,  I  need  not  go  many  steps  to  borrow 
another  violin.' 

*  I  know  that,'  Alin  replied,  '  but  I  don't  think 
it  would  be  so  bad  with  another  violin.  It  is 
your  old  Italian  violin  which  is  the  greatest  dan- 
ger for  you.  And  besides,  I  would  suggest  your 
locking  yourself  in  for  the  first  few  days — only 
until  you  have  got  fairly  started.' 

He  begged  and  begged,  but  Hede  resisted  ;  he 
would  not  stand  anvthing  so  unreasonable  as  be- 
ing a  prisoner  in  his  own  room. 
[8] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

Alin  grew  crimson. 

'  I  must  have  the  violin  with  me/  he  said,  '  oi 
it  is  no  use  at  all.'  He  spoke  eagerly  and  ex- 
citedly. '  I  had  not  intended  to  say  anything 
about  it,  but  I  know  that  it  concerns  more  than 
Munkhyttan.  I  saw  a  young  girl  at  the  Promo- 
tion Ball  in  the  spring  who,  people  said,  was  en- 
gaged to  you.  I  don't  dance,  you  know,  but  I 
liked  to  watch  her  when  she  was  dancing,  look- 
ing radiant  like  one  of  the  lilies  of  the  field.  And 
when  I  heard  that  she  was  engaged  to  you,  I  felt 
sorry  for  her.' 

'Why?' 

'  Because  I  knew  that  you  would  never  suc- 
ceed if  you  continued  as  you  had  begun.  And 
then  I  swore  that  she  should  not  have  to  spend 
her  whole  life  waiting  for  one  who  never  came. 
She  should  not  sit  and  wither  whilst  waiting  for 
you.  I  did  not  want  to  meet  her  in  a  few  years 
with  sharpened  features  and  deep  wrinkles  round 
her  mouth ' 

He  stopped  suddenly ;  Hede's  glance  had 
rested  so  searchingly  upon  him. 

But  Gunnar  Hede  had  already  understood 
that  Alin  was  in  love  with  his  fiancee.  It  moved 
him  deeply  that  Alin  under  these  circumstances 
tried  to  save  him,  and,  influenced  by  this  feeling, 
he  yielded  and  gave  him  the  violin. 

When  Alin  had  gone,  Hede  read  desperately 
for  a  whole  hour,  but  then  he  threw  away  his 
book. 

It  was  not  of  much  good  his  reading.    It  would 
be  three  or  four  years  before  he  could  be  finished, 
and  who  could  guarantee  that  the  estate  would 
not  be  sold  in  the  meantime? 
[9] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

He  felt  almost  with  terror  how  deeply  he  loved 
the  old  home.  It  was  like  witchery.  Every 
room,  every  tree,  stood  clearly  before  him.  He 
felt  he  could  not  part  with  any  of  it  if  he  were 
to  be  happy.  And  he  was  to  sit  quietly  with  his 
books  whilst  all  this  was  about  to  pass  away  from 
him. 

He  became  more  and  more  restless ;  he  felt 
the  blood  beating  in  his  temples  as  if  in  a  fever. 
And  then  he  grew  quite  beside  himself  because 
he  could  not  take  his  violin  and  play  himself  calm 
again. 

*  My  God!'  he  said,  'Alin  will  drive  me  mad. 
First  to  tell  me  all  this,  and  then  to  take  away 
my  violin !  A  man  like  I  must  feel  the  bow  be- 
tween his  fingers  in  sorrow  and  in  joy.  I  must 
do  something ;  I  must  get  money,  but  I  have  not 
an  idea  in  my  head.  I  cannot  think  without  my 
violin.' 

He  could  not  endure  the  feeling  of  being 
locked  in.  He  was  so  angry  with  Alin,  who  had 
thought  of  this  absurd  plan,  that  he  was  afraid 
he  might  strike  him  the  next  time  he  came. 

Of  course  he  would  have  played,  if  he  had  had 
the  violin,  for  that  was  just  what  he  needed.  His 
blood  rushed  so  wildly,  that  he  was  nearly  going 
out  of  his  mind. 

Just  as  Hede  was  longing  most  for  his  violin 
a  wandering  musician  began  to  play  outside.  It 
was  an  old  blind  man.  He  played  out  of  tune 
and  without  expression,  but  Hede  was  so  over- 
come by  hearing  a  violin  just  at  this  moment 
that  he  listened  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  with 
his  hands  folded. 

[10] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

The  next  moment  he  flung  open  the  window 
and  climbed  to  the  ground  by  the  help  of  the 
creepers.  He  had  no  compunction  at  leaving 
his  work.  He  thought  the  violin  had  simply 
come  to  comfort  him  in  his  misfortune. 

Hede  had  probably  never  before  begged  so 
humbly  for  anything  as  he  did  now,  when  he 
asked  the  old  blind  man  to  lend  him  his  violin. 
He  stood  the  whole  time  with  his  cap  in  his  hand, 
although  the  old  man  was  blind. 

The  musician  did  not  seem  to  understand  what 
he  wanted.  He  turned  to  the  young  girl  who 
was  leading  him.  Hede  bowed  to  the  poor  girl 
and  repeated  his  request.  She  looked  at  him,  as 
if  she  must  have  eyes  for  them  both.  The  glance 
from  her  big  eyes  was  so  steady  that  Hede 
thought  he  could  feel  where  it  struck  him.  It 
began  with  his  collar,  and  it  noticed  that  the  frills 
of  his  shirt  were  well  starched,  then  it  saw  that 
his  coat  was  brushed,  next  that  his  boots  were 
polished. 

Hede  had  never  before  been  subjected  to  such 
close  scrutiny.  He  saw  clearly  that  he  would  not 
pass  muster  before  those  eyes. 

But  it  was  not  so,  all  the  same.  The  young 
girl  had  a  strange  way  of  smiling.  Her  face 
was  so  serious,  that  one  had  the  impression  when 
she  smiled  that  it  was  the  first  and  only  time  she 
had  ever  looked  happy ;  and  now  one  of  these 
rare  smiles  passed  over  her  lips.  She  took  the 
violin  from  the  old  man  and  handed  it  to 
Hede. 

*  Play  the  waltz  from  "  Freischutz,"  then,'  she 
said. 

[II] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Hede  thought  it  was  strange  that  he  should 
have  to  play  a  waltz  just  at  that  moment,  but,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  all  the  same  to  him  what 
he  played,  if  he  could  only  have  a  bow  in  his 
hand.  That  was  all  he  wanted.  The  violin  at 
once  began  to  comfort  him ;  it  spoke  to  him  in 
faint,  cracked  tones. 

'  I  am  only  a  poor  man's  violin,'  it  said ;  '  but 
such  as  I  am,  I  am  a  comfort  and  help  to  a  poor 
blind  man.  I  am  the  light  and  the  colour  and 
the  brightness  in  his  life.  It  is  I  who  must  com- 
fort him  in  his  poverty  and  old  age  and  blind- 
ness.' 

Hede  felt  that  the  terrible  depression  that  had 
cowed  his  hopes  began  to  give  way. 

*  You  are  young  and  strong,'  the  violin  said  to 
him.  '  You  can  fight  and  strive ;  you  can  hold 
fast  that  which  tries  to  escape  you.  Why  are  you 
downcast  and  without  courage  ?  ' 

Hede  had  played  with  lowered  eyes ;  now  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  looked  at  those  who 
stood  around  him.  There  was  quite  a  crowd  of 
children  and  people  from  the  street,  who  had 
come  into  the  yard  to  listen  to  the  music.  It  ap- 
peared, however,  that  they  had  not  come  solely 
for  the  sake  of  the  music.  The  blind  man  and 
his  companion  were  not  the  only  ones  in  the 
troupe. 

Opposite  Hede  stood  a  figure  in  tights  and 
spangles,  and  with  bare  arms  crossed  over  his 
chest.  He  looked  old  and  worn,  but  Hede 
could  not  help  thinking  that  he  looked  a  devil  of 
a  fellow  with  his  high  chest  and  long  moustaches. 
And  beside  him  stood  his  wife,  little  and  fat,  and 

[12] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

not  so  very  young  either,  but  beaming  with  joy 
over  her  spangles  and  flowing  gauze  skirts. 

During  the  first  bars  of  the  music  they  stood 
still  and  counted,  then  a  gracious  smile  passed 
over  their  faces,  and  they  took  each  other's 
hands  and  began  to  dance  on  a  small  carpet. 
And  Hede  saw  that  during  all  the  equilibristic 
tricks  they  now  performed  the  woman  stood  al- 
most still,  whilst  her  husband  did  all  the  work. 
He  sprang  over  her,  and  twirled  round  her,  and 
vaulted  over  her.  The  woman  scarcely  did 
anything  else  but  kiss  her  hand  to  the  spectators. 

But  Hede  did  not  really  take  much  notice  of 
them.  His  bow  began  to  fly  over  the  strings. 
It  told  him  that  there  was  happiness  in  fighting 
and  overcoming.  It  almost  deemed  him  happy 
because  everything  was  at  stake  for  him.  Hede 
stood  there,  playing  courage  and  hope  into  him- 
self, and  did  not  think  of  the  old  tight-rope 
dancers. 

But  suddenly  he  saw  that  they  grew  restless. 
They  no  longer  smiled  ;  they  left  ofif  kissing  their 
hands  to  the  spectators ;  the  acrobat  made  mis- 
takes, and  his  wife  began  to  sway  to  and  fro  in 
waltz  time. 

Hede  played  more  and  more  eagerly.  He  left 
ofif  '  Freischiitz  '  and  rushed  into  an  old  '  Nixie 
Polka,'  one  which  generally  sent  all  the  people 
mad  when  played  at  the  peasant  festivals. 

The  old  tight-rope  dancers  quite  lost  their 
heads.  They  stood  in  breathless  astonishment, 
and  at  last  they  could  resist  no  longer.  They 
sprang  into  each  other's  arms,  and  then  they  be- 
gan to  dance  a  waltz  in  the  middle  of  the  carpet. 
[13] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

How  they  danced !  dear  me,  how  they  danced ! 
They  took  small,  tripping  steps,  and  whirled 
round  in  a  small  circle ;  they  hardly  went  out- 
side the  carpet,  and  their  faces  beamed  with  joy 
and  delight.  There  was  the  happiness  of  youth 
and  the  rapture  of  love  over  these  two  old  people. 

The  whole  crowd  was  jubilant  at  seeing  them 
dance.  The  serious  little  companion  of  the  blind 
man  smiled  all  over  her  face,  and  Hede  grew 
much  excited. 

Just  fancy  what  an  effect  his  violin  could  have ! 
It  made  people  quite  forget  themselves.  It  was 
a  great  power  to  have  at  his  disposal.  Any  m.o- 
ment  he  liked  he  could  take  possession  of  his 
kingdom.  Only  a  couple  of  years'  study  abroad 
with  a  great  master,  and  he  could  go  all  over  the 
world,  and  by  his  playing  earn  riches  and  honour 
and  fame. 

It  seemed  to  Hede  that  these  acrobats  must 
have  come  to  tell  him  this.  That  was  the  road 
he  should  follow ;  it  lay  before  him  clear  and 
smooth.  He  said  to  himself:  '  I  will — I  will  be- 
come a  musician  !  I  must  be  one !  This  is  better 
than  studying.  I  can  charm  my  fellow-men  with 
my  violin ;    I  can  become  rich.' 

Hede  stopped  playing.  The  acrobats  at  once 
came  up  and  complimented  him.  The  man  said 
his  name  was  Blomgren.  That  was  his  real 
name ;  he  had  other  names  when  he  performed. 
He  and  his  wife  were  old  circus  people.  Mrs. 
Blomgren  in  former  days  had  been  called  Miss 
Viola,  and  had  performed  on  horseback ;  and 
although  they  had  now  left  the  circus,  they  were 
still  true  artists — artists  body  and  soul.  That  he 
[14] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

had  probably  already  noticed ;  that  was  why  they 
could  not  resist  his  violin. 

Hede  walked  about  with  the  acrobats  for  a 
couple  of  hours.  He  could  not  part  with  the 
violin,  and  the  old  artists'  enthusiasm  for  their 
profession  appealed  to  him.  He  was  simply  test- 
ing himself.  *  I  want  to  find  out  whether  there 
is  the  proper  stuflf  for  an  artist  in  me.  I  want  to 
see  if  I  can  call  forth  enthusiasm.  I  want  to 
see  whether  1  can  make  children  and  idlers  fol- 
low me  from  house  to  house.' 

On  their  way  from  house  to  house  Mr.  Blom- 
gren  threw  an  old  threadbare  mantle  around  him, 
and  Mrs.  Blomgren  enveloped  herself  in  a  brown 
cloak.  Thus  arrayed,  they  walked  at  Hede's  side 
and  talked. 

Mr.  Blomgren  would  not  speak  of  all  the 
honour  he  and  Mrs.  Blomgren  had  received  dur- 
ing the  time  they  had  performed  in  a  real  circus ; 
but  the  directcur  had  given  Mrs.  Blomgren  her 
dismissal  under  the  pretence  that  she  was  getting 
too  stout.  Mr.  Blomgren  had  not  been  dis- 
missed :  he  had  himself  resigned  his  position. 
Surely  no  one  could  think  that  Mr.  Blomgren 
would  remain  with  a  directcur  who  had  dismissed 
his  wife ! 

Mrs.  Blomgren  loved  her  art,  and  for  her  sake 
Mr.  Blomgren  had  made  up  his  mind  to  live  as  a 
free  artist,  so  that  she  could  still  continue  to  per- 
form. During  the  winter,  when  it  was  too  cold 
to  give  performances  in  the  street,  they  per- 
formed in  a  tent.  They  had  a  very  comprehen- 
sive repertoire.  They  gave  pantomimes,  and 
were  jugglers  and  conjurers, 
[15] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

The  circus  had  cast  them  off,  but  Art  had  not, 
said  Mr.  Blomgren.  They  served  Art  always. 
It  was  well  worth  being  faithful  to  Art,  even  unto 
death.  Always  artists — always.  That  was  Mr. 
Blomgren's  opinion,  and  it  was  also  Mrs.  Blom- 
gren's. 

Hede  walked  quietly  and  listened.  His 
thoughts  flew  restlessly  from  plan  to  plan.  Some- 
times events  happen  which  become  like  symbols, 
like  signs,  which  one  must  obey.  There  must  be 
some  meaning  in  what  had  now  happened  to 
him.  If  he  could  only  understand  it  rightly,  it 
might  help  him  towards  arriving  at  a  wise  reso- 
lution. 

Mr.  Blomgren  asked  the  student  to  notice  the 
young  girl  who  was  leading  the  blind  man.  Had 
he  ever  before  seen  such  eyes?  Did  he  not  think 
that  such  eyes  must  mean  something?  Could 
one  have  those  eyes  without  being  intended  for 
something  great? 

Hede  turned  round  and  looked  at  the  little  pale 
girl.  Yes,  she  had  eyes  like  stars,  set  in  a  sad 
and  rather  thin  face. 

*  Our  Lord  knows  always  what  He  is  about,' 
said  Mrs.  Blomgren  ;  '  and  I  also  believe  that  He 
has  some  reason  for  letting  such  an  artist  as  Mr. 
Blomgren  perform  in  the  street.  But  what  was 
He  thinking  about  when  He  gave  that  girl  those 
eyes  and  that  smile?  ' 

'  I  will  tell  you  something,'  said  Mr.  Blom- 
gren ;  *  she  has  not  the  slightest  talent  for  Art. 
And  with  those  eyes  ! ' 

Hede  had  a  suspicion  that  they  were  not  talk- 
ing to  him,  but  simplv  for  the  benefit  of  the 
[i6] 


rhe  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

young  girl.    She  was  walking  just  behind  them, 
and  could  hear  every  word. 

*  She  is  not  more  than  thirteen  years  old,  and 
not  by  any  means  too  old  to  learn  something; 
but,  impossible — impossible,  without  the  slight- 
est talent !  If  one  does  not  want  to  waste  one's 
time,  sir,  teach  her  to  sew,  but  not  to  stand  on 
her  head.  Her  smile  makes  people  quite  mad 
about  her,'  Mr.  Blomgren  continued.  '  Simply 
on  account  of  her  smile  she  has  had  many  offers 
from  families  wishful  to  adopt  her.  She  could 
grow  up  in  a  well-to-do  home  if  she  would  only 
leave  her  grandfather.  But  what  does  she  want 
with  a  smile  that  makes  people  mad  about  her, 
when  she  will  never  appear  either  on  horseback 
or  on  a  trapeze  ? ' 

'  We  know  other  artists,'  said  Mrs.  Blomgren, 
'who  pick  up  children  in  the  street  and  train  them 
for  the  profession  when  they  cannot  perform  any 
longer  themselves.  There  is  more  than  one  who 
has  been  lucky  enough  to  create  a  star  and  obtain 
immense  salaries  for  her.  But  Mr.  Blomgren 
and  I  have  never  thought  of  the  money ;  we  have 
only  thought  of  some  day  seeing  Ingrid  flying 
through  a  hoop  whilst  the  whole  circus  re- 
sounded with  applause.  For  us  it  would  have 
been  as  if  we  were  beginning  life  over  again.' 

*  Why  do  we  keep  her  grandfather  ? '  said  Mr. 
Blomgren.  'Is  he  an  artist  fit  for  us?  We 
could,  no  doubt,  have  got  a  previous  member  of 
a  Hofkapell  if  we  had  wished.  But  we  love  that 
child ;  we  cannot  do  without  her ;  we  keep  the 
old  man  for  her  sake.' 

'  Is  it  not  naughty  of  her  that  she  will  not  allow 
us  to  make  an  artist  of  her? '  they  said. 
[17] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Hede  turned  round.  The  little  girl's  face  wore 
an  expression  of  suffering  and  patience.  He 
could  see  that  she  knew  that  anyone  who  could 
not  dance  on  the  tight-rope  was  a  stupid  and 
contemptible  person. 

At  the  same  moment  they  came  to  another 
house,  but  before  they  began  their  performance 
Hede  sat  down  on  an  overturned  wheelbarrow 
and  began  to  preach.  He  defended  the  poor 
little  girl.  He  reproached  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blom- 
gren  for  wishing  to  hand  her  over  to  the  great, 
cruel  public,  who  would  love  and  applaud  her 
for  a  time,  but  when  she  grew  old  and  worn  out, 
they  would  let  her  trudge  along  the  streets  in 
rain  and  cold.  No ;  he  or  she  was  artist  enough, 
who  made  a  fellow-being  happy.  Ingrid  should 
only  have  eyes  and  smiles  for  one,  should  keep 
them  for  one  only ;  and  this  one  should  never 
leave  her,  but  give  her  a  safe  home  as  long  as  he 
lived. 

Tears  came  into  Hede's  eyes  whilst  he  spoke. 
He  spoke  more  to  himself  than  to  the  others. 
He  felt  it  suddenly  as  something  terrible  to  be 
thrust  out  into  the  world,  to  be  severed  from  the 
quiet  home-life.  He  saw  that  the  great,  star-like 
eyes  of  the  girl  began  to  sparkle.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  had  understood  every  single  word.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  again  felt  the  right  to  live. 

But  Mr.  Blomgren  and  his  wife  had  become 
very  serious.  They  pressed  Hede's  hand  and 
promised  him  that  they  would  never  again  try 
and  persuade  the  little  girl  to  become  an  artist. 
She  should  be  allowed  to  lead  the  life  she  wished. 
He  had  touched  them.  They  were  artists — 
[i8] 


7he  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

artists  body  and  soul ;  they  understood  what  he 
meant  when  he  spoke  of  love  and  faithfulness. 

Then  Hede  parted  from  them  and  went  home. 
He  no  longer  tried  to  find  any  secret  meaning 
in  his  adventure.  After  all,  it  had  meant  noth- 
ing more  than  that  he  should  save  this  poor  sor- 
rowful child  from  always  grieving  over  her  inca- 
pacity. 

II 

MuNKHYTTAN,  the  homc  of  Gunnar  Hede,  was 
situated  in  a  poor  parish  in  the  forests  of  Vesterda- 
larne.  It  was  a  large,  thinly-populated  parish, 
with  which  Nature  had  dealt  very  stingily.  There 
were  stony,  forest-covered  hills,  and  many 
small  lakes.  The  people  could  not  possibly 
have  earned  a  livelihood  there  had  they  not  had 
the  right  to  travel  about  the  country  as  pedlars. 
But  to  make  up  for  it,  the  whole  of  this  poor 
district  was  full  of  old  tales  of  how  poor  peasant 
lads  and  lassies  had  gone  into  the  world  with  a 
pack  of  goods  on  their  backs,  to  return  in  gilded 
coaches,  with  the  boxes  under  the  seats  filled 
with  money. 

One  of  the  very  best  stories  was  about  Hede's 
grandfather.  He  was  the  son  of  a  poor  musi- 
cian, and  had  grown  up  with  his  violin  in  his 
hand,  and  when  he  was  seventeen  years  old  he 
had  gone  out  into  the  world  with  his  pack  on 
his  back.  But  wherever  he  went  his  violin  had 
helped  him  in  his  business.  He  had  by  turns 
gathered  people  together  by  his  music  and  sold 
them  silk  handkerchiefs,  combs,  and  pins.  All 
[19] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

his  trading  had  been  brought  about  with  music 
and  merriment,  and  things  had  gone  so  well  with 
him  that  he  had  at  last  been  able  to  buy  Munk- 
hyttan,  with  its  mine  and  ironworks,  from  the 
poverty-stricken  Baron  who  then  owned  the 
property.  Then  he  became  the  Squire,  and  the 
pretty  daughter  of  the  Baron  became  his  wife. 

From  that  time  the  old  family,  as  they  were 
always  called,  had  thought  of  nothing  else  but 
beautifying  the  place.  They  removed  the  main 
building  on  to  the  beautiful  island  which  lay  on 
the  edge  of  a  small  lake,  round  which  lay  their 
fields  and  their  mines.  The  upper  story  had 
been  added  in  their  time,  for  they  wanted  to  have 
plenty  of  room  for  their  numerous  guests ;  and 
they  had  also  added  the  two  large  flights  of 
steps  outside.  They  had  planted  ornamental 
trees  all  over  the  fir-covered  island.  They  had 
made  small  winding  pathways  in  the  stony  soil, 
and  on  the  most  beautiful  spots  they  had  built 
small  pavilions,  hanging  like  large  birds'-nests 
over  the  lake.  The  beautiful  French  roses  that 
grew  on  the  terrace,  the  Dutch  furniture,  the 
Italian  violin,  had  all  been  brought  to  the  house 
by  them.  And  it  was  they  who  had  built  the 
wall  protecting  the  orchard  from  the  north  wind, 
and  the  conserv^atory. 

The  old  family  were  merry,  kind-hearted,  old- 
fashioned  people.  The  Squire's  wife  certainly 
liked  to  be  a  little  aristocratic ;  but  that  was  not  at 
all  in  the  old  Squire's  line.  In  the  midst  of  all 
the  luxury  which  surrounded  him  he  never 
forgot  what  he  had  been,  and  in  the  room  where 
he  transacted  his  business,  and  where  people 

[20] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

came  and  went,  the  pack  and  the  red-painted, 
home-made  vioHn  were  hung  right  above  the 
old  man's  desk. 

Even  after  his  death  the  pack  and  the  violin 
remained  in  the  same  place.  And  every  time 
the  old  man's  son  and  grandson  saw  them  their 
hearts  swelled  with  gratitude.  It  was  these  two 
poor  implements  that  had  created  Munkhyttan, 
and  Munkhyttan  was  the  best  thing  in  the  world. 

Whatever  the  reason  might  be — and  it  was 
probably  because  it  seemed  natural  to  the  place 
that  one  lived  a  good,  genial  life  there,  free  from 
trouble — Hede's  family  clung  to  the  place  with 
greater  love  than  was  good  for  it.  And  more 
especially  Gunnar  Hede  was  so  strongly  at- 
tached to  it  that  people  said  that  it  was  incor- 
rect to  say  of  him  that  he  owned  an  estate. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  an  old  estate  in  Ves- 
terdalarne  that  owned  Gunnar  Hede. 

If  he  had  not  made  himself  a  slave  of  an  old 
rambling  manor-house  and  some  acres  of  land 
and  forest,  and  some  stunted  apple-trees,  he 
would  probably  have  continued  his  studies,  or, 
better  still,  gone  abroad  to  study  music,  which, 
after  all,  was  no  doubt  his  proper  vocation  in 
this  world.  But  when  he  returned  from  Upsala, 
and  it  became  clear  to  him  that  they  really  would 
have  to  sell  the  estate  if  he  could  not  soon  earn 
a  lot  of  money,  he  decided  upon  giving  up  all 
his  other  plans,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
out  into  the  world  as  a  pedlar,  as  his  grand- 
father before  him  had  done. 

His  mother  and  his  fiancee  besought  him 
rather  to  sell  the  place  than  to  sacrifice  himself 

[21] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

for  it  in  this  manner,  but  he  was  not  to  be  moved. 
He  put  on  peasant's  attire,  bought  goods,  and 
began  to  travel  about  the  country  as  a  pedlar. 
He  thought  that  if  he  only  traded  a  couple  of 
years  he  could  earn  enough  to  pay  the  debt  and 
save  the  estate. 

And  as  far  as  the  latter  v^as  concerned  he 
was  successful  enough.  But  he  brought  upon 
himself  a  terrible  misfortune. 

When  he  had  walked  about  with  his  pack  for 
a  year  or  so  he  thought  that  he  would  try  and 
earn  a  large  sum  of  money  at  one  stroke.  He 
went  far  north  and  bought  a  large  flock  of 
goats,  about  a  couple  of  hundred.  And  he 
and  a  comrade  intended  to  drive  them  down  to 
a  large  fair  in  Vermland,  where  goats  cost  twice 
as  much  as  in  the  north.  If  he  succeeded  in 
selling  all  his  goats,  he  would  do  a  very  good 
business.  , 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  November,  and 
there  had  not  yet  been  any  snow,  when  Hede 
and  his  comrade  set  out  with  their  goats.  The 
first  day  everything  went  well  with  them,  but 
the  second  day,  when  they  came  to  the  great 
Fifty-Mile  Forest,  it  began  to  snow.  Much 
snow  fell,  and  it  stormed  and  blew  severely.  It 
was  not  long  before  it  became  difficult  for  the 
animals  to  make  their  way  through  the  snow. 
Goats  are  certainly  both  plucky  and  hardy  ani- 
mals, and  the  herd  struggled  on  for  a  consider- 
able time ;  but  the  snow-storm  lasted  two  days 
and  two  nights,  and  it  was  terribly  cold. 

Hede  did  all  he  could  to  save  the  animals, 
but  after  the  snow  began  to  fall  he  could  get 

[22] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

them  neither  food  nor  water.  And  when  they 
had  worked  their  way  through  deep  snow  for 
a  whole  day  they  became  very  footsore.  Their 
feet  hurt  them,  and  they  would  not  go  any 
longer.  The  first  goat  that  threw  itself  down 
by  the  roadside  and  would  not  get  up  again 
and  follow  the  herd  Hede  lifted  on  to  his 
shoulder  so  as  not  to  leave  it  behind.  But  when 
another  and  again  another  lay  down  he  could 
not  carry  them.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  look  the  other  way  and  go  on. 

Do  you  know  what  the  Fifty-Mile  Forest  is 
like  ?  Not  a  farmhouse,  not  a  cottage,  mile  after 
mile,  only  forest ;  tall-stemmed  fir-trees,  with 
bark  as  hard  as  wood,  and  high  branches ;  no 
young  trees  with  soft  bark  and  soft  twigs  that 
th-e  animals  could  eat.  If  there  had  been  no 
snow,  they  could  have  got  through  the  forest 
in  a  couple  of  days ;  now  they  could  not  get 
through  it  at  all.  All  the  goats  were  left  there, 
and  the  men  too  nearly  perished.  They  did 
not  meet  a  single  human  being  the  whole  time. 
No  one  helped  them. 

Hede  tried  to  throw  the  snow  to  one  side 
so  that  the  goats  could  eat  the  moss ;  but  the 
snow  fell  so  thickly,  and  the  moss  was  frozen 
fast  to  the  ground.  And  how  could  he  get  food 
for  two  hundred  animals  in  this  way? 

He  bore  it  bravely  until  the  goats  began  to 
moan.  The  first  day  they  were  a  lively,  rather 
noisy  herd.  He  had  had  hard  work  to  make 
them  all  keep  together,  and  prevent  them  from 
butting  each  other  to  death.  But  when  they 
seemed  to  understand  that  they  could  not  be 
[23] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

saved  their  nature  changed,  and  they  completely 
lost  their  courage.  They  all  began  to  bleat  and 
moan,  not  faintly  and  peevishly,  as  goats  usually 
do,  but  loudly,  louder  and  louder  as  the  danger 
increased.  And  when  Hede  heard  their  cries  he 
felt  quite  desperate. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  the  wild,  desolate 
forest ;  there  was  no  help  whatever  obtainable. 
Goat  after  goat  dropped  down  by  the  roadside. 
The  snow  gathered  round  them  and  covered 
them.  When  Hede  looked  back  at  this  row  of 
drifts  by  the  wayside,  each  hiding  the  body  of 
an  animal,  of  which  one  could  still  see  the  pro- 
jecting horns  and  the  hoofs,  then  his  brain  began 
to  give  way. 

He  rushed  at  the  animals,  which  allowed 
themselves  to  be  covered  by  the  snow,  swung 
his  whip  over  them,  and  hit  them.  It  was  the 
only  way  to  save  them,  but  they  did  not  stir. 
He  took  them  by  the  horns  and  dragged  them 
along.  They  allowed  themselves  to  be  dragged, 
but  they  did  not  move  a  foot  themselves.  When 
he  let  go  his  hold  of  their  horns,  they  licked 
his  hands,  as  if  beseeching  him  to  help  them. 
As  soon  as  he  went  up  to  them  they  licked  his 
hands. 

All  this  had  such  a  strong  efifect  upon  Hede 
that  he  felt  he  was  on  the  point  of  going  out 
of  his  mind. 

It  is  not  certain,  however,  that  things  would 
have  gone  so  badly  with  him  had  he  not,  after 
it  was  all  over  in  the  forest,  gone  to  see  one 
whom  he  loved  dearly.  It  was  not  his  mother, 
but  his  sweetheart.  He  thought  himself  that 
[24] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

he  had  gone  there  because  he  ought  to  tell 
her  at  once  that  he  had  lost  so  much  money 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  marry  for  many 
years.  But  no  doubt  he  went  to  see  her  solely 
to  hear  her  say  that  she  loved  him  quite  as 
much  in  spite  of  his  misfortunes.  He  thought 
that  she  could  drive  away  the  memory  of  the 
Fifty-Mile  Forest. 

She  could,  perhaps,  have  done  this,  but  she 
would  not.  She  was  already  displeased  because 
Hede  went  about  with  a  pack  and  looked  like 
a  peasant ;  she  thought  that  for  that  reason 
alone  it  was  difficult  to  love  him  as  much  as 
before.  Now,  when  he  told  her  that  he  must 
still  go  on  doing  this  for  many  years,  she  said 
that  she  could  no  longer  wait  for  him.  This 
last  blow  was  too  much  for  Hede ;  his  mind 
gave  way. 

He  did  not  grow  quite  mad,  however ;  he  re- 
tained so  much  of  his  senses  that  he  could  attend 
to  his  business.  He  even  did  better  than  others, 
for  it  amused  people  to  make  fun  of  him  ;  he 
was  always  welcome  at  the  peasants'  houses. 
People  plagued  and  teased  him,  but  that  was 
in  a  way  good  for  him,  as  he  was  so  anxious 
to  become  rich.  And  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years  he  had  earned  enough  to  pay  all  his  debts, 
and  he  could  have  lived  free  from  worry  on  his 
estate.  But  this  he  did  not  understand;  he 
went  about  half-witted  and  silly  from  farm  to 
farm,  and  he  had  no  longer  any  idea  to  what 
class  of  people  he  really  belonged. 


[25] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

III 

Raglanda  was  the  name  of  a  parish  in  the 
north  of  East  Vermland,  near  the  borders  of 
Dalarne,  where  the  Dean  had  a  large  house, 
but  the  pastor  only  a  small  and  poor  one.  But 
poor  as  they  were  at  the  small  parsonage,  they 
had  been  charitable  enough  to  adopt  a  poor 
girl.  She  was  a  little  girl,  Ingrid  by  name, 
and  she  had  come  to  the  parsonage  when  she 
was  thirteen  years  old. 

The  pastor  had  accidentally  seen  her  at  a 
fair,  where  she  sat  crying  outside  the  tent  of 
some  acrobats.  He  had  stopped  and  asked  her 
why  she  was  crying,  and  she  had  told  him  that 
her  blind  grandfather  was  dead,  and  that  she 
had  no  relatives  left.  She  now  travelled  with 
a  couple  of  acrobats,  and  they  were  good  to 
her,  but  she  cried  because  she  was  so  stupid 
that  she  could  never  learn  to  dance  on  the  tight- 
rope and  help  to  earn  any  money. 

There  was  a  sorrowful  grace  over  the  child 
which  touched  the  pastor's  heart.  He  said  at 
once  to  himself  that  he  could  not  allow  such  a 
little  creature  to  go  to  the  bad  amongst  these 
wandering  tramps.  He  went  into  the  tent,  where 
he  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren,  and  ofifered  to 
take  the  child  home  with  him.  The  old  acrobats 
began  to  weep,  and  said  that  although  the  girl 
was  entirely  unfitted  for  the  profession,  they 
would  so  very  much  like  to  keep  her ;  but  at 
the  same  time  they  thought  she  would  be  happier 
in  a  real  home  with  people  who  lived  in  the  same 
place  all  the  year  round,  and  therefore  they  were 
[26] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

willing  to  give  her  up  to  the  pastor  if  he  would 
only  promise  them  that  she  should  be  like  one 
of  his  own  children. 

This  he  had  promised,  and  from  that  time  the 
young  girl  had  lived  at  the  parsonage.  She  was 
a  quiet,  gentle  child,  full  of  love  and  tender  care 
for  those  around  her.  At  first  her  adopted 
parents  loved  her  very  dearly,  but  as  she  grew 
older  she  developed  a  strong  inclination  to  lose 
herself  in  dreams  and  fancies.  She  lived  in  a 
world  of  visions,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
she  could  let  her  work  fall  and  be  lost  in  dreams. 
But  the  pastor's  wife,  who  was  a  clever  and 
hard-working  woman,  did  not  approve  of  this. 
She  found  fault  with  the  young  girl  for  being 
lazy  and  slow,  and  tormented  her  by  her  severity 
so  that  she  became  timid  and  unhappy. 

When  she  had  completed  her  nineteenth  year, 
she  fell  dangerously  ill.  They  did  not  quite 
know  what  was  the  matter  with  her,  for  this 
happened  long  ago,  when  there  was  no  doctor 
at  Raglanda,  but  the  girl  was  very  ill.  They 
soon  saw  she  was  so  ill  that  she  could  not  live. 

She  herself  did  nothing  but  pray  to  God  that 
He  would  take  her  away  from  this  world.  She 
would  so  like  to  die,  she  said. 

Then  it  seemed  as  if  our  Lord  would  try 
whether  she  was  in  earnest.  One  night  she  felt 
that  she  grew  stiff  and  cold  all  over  her  body, 
and  a  heavy  lethargy  fell  upon  her.  '  I  think 
this  must  be  death,'  she  said  to  herself. 

But  the  strange  thing  was  that  she  did  not 
quite  lose  consciousness.  She  knew  that  she  lay 
as  if  she  were  dead,  knew  that  they  wrapped 
[27  J 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

her  in  her  shroud  and  laid  her  in  her  coffin, 
but  she  felt  no  fear  of  being  buried,  although 
she  was  still  alive.  She  had  but  the  one  thought 
that  she  was  happy  because  she  was  about  to 
die  and  leave  this  troublesome  life. 

The  only  thing  she  was  uneasy  about  was 
lest  they  should  discover  that  she  was  not  really 
dead  and  would  not  bury  her.  Life  must  have 
been  very  bitter  to  her,  inasmuch  as  she  felt 
no  fear  of  death  whatever. 

But  no  one  discovered  that  she  was  living. 
She  was  conveyed  to  the  church,  carried  to  the 
churchyard,  and  lowered  into  the  grave. 

The  grave,  however,  was  not  filled  in ;  she 
had  been  buried  before  the  service  on  Sunday 
morning,  as  was  the  custom  at  Raglanda.  The 
mourners  had  gone  into  church  after  the  funeral, 
and  the  coffin  was  left  in  the  open  grave ;  but 
as  soon  as  the  service  was  over  they  would 
come  back,  and  help  the  grave-digger  to  fill 
in  the  grave. 

The  young  girl  knew  everything  that  hap- 
pened, but  felt  no  fear.  She  had  not  been  able 
to  make  the  slightest  movement  to  show  that 
she  was  alive,  even  if  she  had  wanted  to ;  but 
even  if  she  had  been  able  to  move,  she  would 
not  have  done  so ;  the  whole  time  she  was  happy 
because  she  was  as  good  as  dead. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  one  could  hardly  say 
that  she  was  alive.  She  had  neither  the  use  of 
her  mind  nor  of  her  senses.  It  was  only  that 
part  of  the  soul  which  dreams  dreams  during 
the  night  that  was  still  living  within  her. 
She  could  not  even  think  enough  to  realize 
[28] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

how  terrible  it  would  be  for  her  to  awake  when 
the  grave  was  filled  in.  She  had  no  more  power 
over  her  mind  than  has  one  who  dreams. 

'  I  should  like  to  know,'  she  thought,  '  if  there 
is  anything  in  the  whole  wide  world  that  could 
make  me  wish  to  live.' 

As  soon  as  that  thought  rushed  through  her 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  lid  of  the  cofhn,  and 
the  handkerchief  which  had  been  placed  over 
her  face,  became  transparent,  and  she  saw  before 
her  riches  and  beautiful  raiment,  and  lovely 
gardens  with  delicious  fruits. 

'  No,  I  do  not  care  for  any  of  these  things,' 
she  said,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  for  their 
glories. 

When  she  again  looked  up  they  had  disap- 
peared, but  instead  she  saw  quite  distinctly  a 
little  angel  of  God  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave. 

'  Good-morning,  thou  little  angel  of  God,'  she 
said  to  him. 

'  Good-morning,  Ingrid,'  the  angel  said. 
*  Whilst  thou  art  lying  here  doing  nothing,  I 
would  like  to  speak  a  little  with  thee  about  days 
gone  by.' 

Ingrid  heard  distinctly  every  word  the  angel 
said ;  but  his  voice  was  not  like  anything  she 
had  ever  heard  before.  It  was  more  hke  a 
stringed  instrument ;  it  was  not  Hke  singing, 
but  like  the  tones  of  a  violin  or  the  clang  of 
a  harp. 

'  Ingrid,'  the  angel  said,  '  dost  thou  remember, 
whilst  thy  grandfather  was  still  living,  that  thou 
once  met  a  young  student,  who  went  wjth  th^^ 

f29l 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

from  house  to  house  playing  the  whole  day  on 
thy  grandfather's  violin  ?  ' 

The  girl's  face  was  lighted  by  a  smile. 

'  Dost  thou  think  I  have  forgotten  this  ?  '  she 
said.  *  Ever  since  that  time  no  day  has  passed 
when  I  have  not  thought  of  him.' 

*  And  no  night  when  thou  hast  not  dreamt 
of  him?' 

'  No,  not  a  night  when  I  have  not  dreamt  of 
him.' 

'  And  thou  wilt  die,  although  thou  remem- 
berest  him  so  well,'  said  the  angel.  '  Then  thou 
wilt  never  be  able  to  see  him  again.' 

When  he  said  this  it  was  as  if  the  dead  girl 
felt  all  the  happiness  of  love,  but  even  that  could 
not  tempt  her. 

'  No,  no,'  she  said ;  '  I  am  afraid  to  live ;  I 
would  rather  die.' 

Then  the  angel  waved  his  hand,  and  Ingrid 
saw  before  her  a  wide  waste  of  desert.  There 
were  no  trees,  and  the  desert  was  barren  and 
dry  and  hot,  and  extended  in  all  directions 
without  any  Hmits.  In  the  sand  there  lay,  here 
and  there,  objects  which  at  the  first  glance 
looked  Hke  pieces  of  rock,  but  when  she  ex- 
amined them  more  closely,  she  saw  they  were 
the  immense  living  animals  of  fairy  tales,  with 
huge  claws  and  great  jaws,  with  sharp  teeth ; 
they  lay  in  the  sand,  watching  for  prey.  And 
between  these  terrible  animals  the  student  came 
walking  along.  He  went  quite  fearlessly,  with- 
out suspecting  that  the  figures  around  him  were 
living. 

*  But  warn  him !    do  warn  him ! '  Ingrid  said 

[30] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

to  the  angel  in  unspeakable  fear.  '  Tell  him  that 
they  are  living,  and  that  he  must  take  care.' 

'  I  am  not  allowed  to  speak  to  him,'  said  the 
angel  with  his  clear  voice ;  '  thou  must  thyself 
warn  him.' 

The  apparently  dead  girl  felt  with  horror  that 
she  lay  powerless,  and  could  not  rush  to  save 
the  student.  She  made  one  futile  effort  after 
the  other  to  raise  herself,  but  the  impotence  of 
death  bound  her.  But  then  at  last,  at  last,  she 
felt  her  heart  begin  to  beat,  the  blood  rushed 
through  her  veins,  the  stiffness  of  death  was 
loosened  in  her  body.  She  arose  and  hastened 
towards  him. 

IV 

It  is  quite  certain  the  sun  loves  the  open 
places  outside  the  small  village  churches.  Has 
no  one  ever  noticed  that  one  never  sees  so 
much  sunshine  as  during  the  morning  service 
outside  a  small,  whitewashed  church?  Nowhere 
else  does  one  see  such  radiant  streams  of  light, 
nowhere  else  is  the  air  so  devoutly  quiet.  The 
sun  simply  keeps  watch  that  no  one  remains 
on  the  church  hill  gossiping.  It  wants  them  all 
to  sit  quietly  in  church  and  listen  to  the  sermon 
— that  is  why  it  sends  such  a  wealth  of  sunny 
rays  on  to  the  ground  outside  the  church  wall. 

Perhaps  one  must  not  take  it  for  granted 
that  the  sun  keeps  watch  outside  the  small 
churches  every  Sunday ;  but  so  much  is  cer- 
tain, that  the  morning  Ingrid  had  been  placed 
in  the  grave  in  the  churchyard  at  Raglanda, 
[31] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

it  spread  a  burning  heat  over  the  open  space 
outside  the  church.  Even  the  flint  stones 
looked  as  if  they  might  take  fire  as  they  lay 
and  sparkled  in  the  wheel-ruts.  The  short, 
down-trodden  grass  curled,  so  that  it  looked 
like  dry  moss,  whilst  the  yellow  dandelions 
which  grew  amongst  the  grass  spread  them- 
selves out  on  their  long  stems,  so  that  they 
became  as  large  as  asters. 

A  man  from  Dalarne  came  wandering  along 
the  road — one  of  those  men  who  go  about  sell- 
ing knives  and  scissors.  He  was  clad  in  a 
long,  white  sheep-skin  coat,  and  on  his  back 
he  had  a  large  black  leather  pack.  He  had 
been  walking  with  this  burden  for  several  hours 
without  finding  it  too  hot,  but  when  he  had 
left  the  highroad,  and  came  to  the  open  place 
outside  the  church,  he  stopped  and  took  off 
his  hat  in  order  to  dry  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead. 

As  the  man  stood  there  bare-headed,  he 
looked  both  handsome  and  clever.  His  fore- 
head was  high  and  white,  with  a  deep  wrinkle 
between  the  eyebrows ;  the  mouth  was  well 
formed,  with  thin  lips.  His  hair  was  parted 
in  the  middle ;  it  was  cut  short  at  the  back, 
but  hung  over  his  ears,  and  was  inclined  to 
curl.  He  was  tall,  and  strongly,  but  not  coarsely, 
built ;  in  every  respect  well  proportioned.  But 
what  was  wrong  about  him  was  his  glance, 
which  was  unsteady,  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes 
rolled  restlessly,  and  were  drawn  far  into  the 
sockets,  as  if  to  hide  themselves.  There  was 
something  drawn  about  the  mouth,  something 
[32] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

dull  and  heavy,  which  did  not  seem  to  belong 
to  the  face. 

He  could  not  be  quite  right,  either,  or  he 
would  not  have  dragged  that  heavy  pack  about 
on  a  Sunday.  If  he  had  been  quite  in  his 
senses,  he  would  have  known  that  it  was  of 
no  use,  as  he  could  not  sell  anything  in  any 
case.  None  of  the  other  men  from  Dalarne 
who  walked  about  from  village  to  village  bent 
their  backs  under  this  burden  on  a  Sunday, 
but  they  went  to  the  house  of  God  free  and 
erect   as   other   men. 

But  this  poor  fellow  probably  did  not  know 
it  was  a  holy  day  until  he  stood  in  the  sun- 
shine outside  the  church  and  heard  the  sing- 
ing. He  was  sensible  enough  at  once  to  under- 
stand that  he  could  not  do  any  business,  and 
then  his  brain  began  to  work  as  to  how  he 
should  spend  the  day. 

He  stood  for  a  long  time  and  stared  in  front 
of  him.  When  everything  went  its  usual  course, 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  managing.  He  was  not 
so  bad  but  that  he  could  go  from  farm  to  farm 
all  through  the  week  and  attend  to  his  busi- 
ness, but  he  never  could  get  accustomed  to 
the  Sunday — that  always  came  upon  him  as  a 
great,  unexpected  trouble. 

His  eyes  became  quite  fixed,  and  the  muscles 
of  his   forehead  swelled. 

The  first  thought  that  took  shape  in  his  brain 
was  that  he  should  go  into  the  church  and 
listen  to  the  sin^ging,  but  he  would  not  accept 
this  suggestion.  He  was  very  fond  of  sing- 
ing, but  he  dared  not  go  into  the  church.     He 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

was  not  afraid  of  human  beings,  but  in  some 
churches  there  were  such  quaint,  uncanny  pict- 
ures, which  represented  creatures  of  which  he 
would  rather  not  think. 

At  last  his  brain  worked  round  to  the  thought 
that,  as  this  was  a  church,  there  would  prob- 
ably also  be  a  churchyard,  and  when  he  could 
take  refuge  in  a  churchyard  all  was  well.  One 
could  not  offer  him  anything  better.  If  on  his 
wanderings  he  saw  a  churchyard,  he  always  went 
in  and  sat  there  awhile,  even  if  it  were  in  the 
middle  of  a  workaday  week. 

Now  that  he  wanted  to  go  to  the  church- 
yard a  new  difficulty  suddenly  arose.  The 
burial-place  at  Raglanda  does  not  lie  quite 
near  the  church,  which  is  built  on  a  hill,  but 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road;  and  he  could 
not  get  to  the  entrance  of  the  churchyard  with- 
out passing  along  the  road  where  the  horses 
of  the  church-goers  were  standing  tied  up. 

All  the  horses  stood  with  their  heads  deep 
in  bundles  of  hay  and  nosebags,  chewing.  There 
was  no  question  of  their  being  able  to  do  the 
man  any  harm,  but  he  had  his  own  ideas  as 
to  the  danger  of  going  past  such  a  long  row  of 
animals. 

Two  or  three  times  he  made  an  attempt,  but 
his  courage  failed  him,  so  that  he  was  obliged 
to  turn  back.  He  was  not  afraid  that  the 
horses  would  bite  or  kick.  It  was  quite  enough 
for  him  that  they  were  so  near  that  they  could 
see  him.  It  was  quite  enough  that  they  could 
shake  their  bridles  and  scrape  the  earth  with 
their  hoofs. 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

At  last  a  moment  came  when  all  the  horses 
were  looking  down,  and  seemed  to  be  eating 
for  a  wager.  Then  he  began  to  make  his  way 
between  them.  He  held  his  sheepskin  cloak 
tightly  around  him  so  that  it  should  not  flap 
and  betray  him,  and  he  went  on  tiptoe  as  lightly 
as  he  could.  When  a  horse  raised  its  eyelid 
and  looked  at  him,  he  at  once  stopped  and 
curtsied.  He  wanted  to  be  polite  in  this  great 
danger,  but  surely  animals  were  amenable  to 
reason,  and  could  understand  that  he  could  not 
bow  when  he  had  a  pack  full  of  hardware  upon 
his  back ;  he  could  only  curtsy. 

He  sighed  deeply,  for  in  this  world  it  was 
a  sad  and  troublesome  thing  to  be  so  afraid  of 
all  four-footed  animals  as  he  was.  He  was 
really  not  afraid  of  any  other  animals  than 
goats,  and  he  would  not  have  been  at  all  afraid 
of  horses  and  dogs  and  cats  had  he  only  been 
quite  sure  that  they  were  not  a  kind  of  trans- 
formed goats.  But  he  never  was  quite  sure  of 
that,  so  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  just  as  bad 
for  him  as  if  he  had  been  afraid  of  all  kinds  of 
four-footed  animals. 

It  was  no  use  his  thinking  of  how  strong  he 
was,  and  that  these  small  peasant  horses  never 
did  any  harm  to  anyone :  he  who  has  become 
possessed  of  such  fears  cannot  reason  with  him- 
self. Fear  is  a  heavy  burden,  and  it  is  hard  for 
him  who  must  always  carry  it. 

It  was  strange  that  he  managed  to  get  past 

all  the  horses.     The  last  few  steps  he  took  in 

two   long  jumps,   and   when   he   got   into   the 

churchyard  he  closed  the  gate  after  him,  and 

[35] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

began  to  threaten  the  horses  with  his  clenched 
fist. 

'  You  wretched,  miserable,  accursed  goats ! ' 

He  did  that  to  all  animals.  He  could  not 
help  calling  them  goats,  and  that  was  very  stupid 
of  him,  for  it  had  procured  him  a  name  which 
he  did  not  like.  Everyone  who  met  him  called 
him  the  '  Goat.'  But  he  would  not  own  to  this 
name.  He  wanted  to  be  called  by  his  proper 
name,  but  apparently  no  one  knew  his  real  name 
in  that  district. 

He  stood  a  little  while  at  the  gate,  rejoicing 
at  having  escaped  from  the  horses,  but  he  soon 
went  further  into  the  churchyard.  At  every 
cross  and  every  stone  he  stopped  and  curtsied, 
but  this  was  not  from  fear:  this  was  simply 
from  joy  at  seeing  these  dear  old  friends.  All 
at  once  he  began  to  look  quite  gentle  and  mild. 
They  were  exactly  the  same  crosses  and  stones 
he  had  so  often  seen  before.  They  looked  just 
as  usual.  How  well  he  knew  them  again !  He 
must  say  *  Good-morning '  to  them. 

How  nice  it  was  in  the  churchyard!  There 
were  no  animals  about  there,  and  there  were 
no  people  to  make  fun  of  him.  It  was  best 
there,  when  it  was  quite  quiet  as  now ;  but 
even  if  there  were  people,  they  did  not  disturb 
him.  He  certainly  knew  many  pretty  meadows 
and  woods  which  he  liked  still  better,  but  there 
he  was  never  left  in  peace.  They  could  not  by 
any  means  compare  with  the  churchyard.  And 
the  churchyard  was  better  than  the  forest,  for 
in  the  forest  the  loneliness  was  so  great  that 
he  was  frightened  by  it.  Here  it  was  quiet,  as 
[36] 


ne  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

in  the  depths  of  the  forest ;  but  he  was  not 
without  company.  Here  people  were  sleeping 
under  every  stone  and  every  mound;  just  the 
company  he  wanted  in  order  not  to  feel  lonely 
and  strange. 

He  went  straight  to  the  open  grave.  He 
went  there  partly  because  there  were  some 
shady  trees,  and  partly  because  he  wanted  com- 
pany. He  thought,  perhaps,  that  the  dead  who 
had  so  recently  been  laid  in  the  grave  might 
be  a  better  protection  against  his  loneliness  than 
those  who  had  passed  away  long  ago. 

He  bent  his  knees,  with  his  back  to  the  great 
mound  of  earth  at  the  edge  of  the  grave,  and 
succeeded  in  pushing  the  pack  upwards,  so  that 
it  stood  firmly  on  the  mound,  and  he  then 
loosened  the  heavy  straps  that  fastened  it.  It 
was  a  great  day — a  holiday.  He  also  took  off 
his  coat.  He  sat  down  on  the  grass  with  a 
feeling  of  great  pleasure,  so  close  to  the  grave 
that  his  long  legs,  with  the  stockings  tied  under 
the  knee,  and  the  heavy  laced  shoes  dangled  over 
the  edge  of  the  grave. 

For  a  while  he  sat  still,  with  his  eyes  steadily 
fixed,  upon  the  coflfin.  When  one  was  pos- 
sessed by  such  fear  as  he  was,  one  could  not 
be  too  careful.  But  the  coffin  did  not  move 
in  the  least ;  it  was  impossible  to  suspect  it  of 
containing  any  snare. 

He  was  no  sooner  certain  of  this  than  he  put 
his  hand  into  a  side-pocket  of  the  pack  and  took 
out  a  violin  and  bow,  and  at  the  same  time  he 
nodded  to  the  dead  in  the  grave.  As  he  was 
so  quiet  he  should  hear  something  pretty. 
I37] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

This  was  something  very  unusual  for  him. 
There  were  not  many  who  were  allowed  to  hear 
him  play.  No  one  was  ever  allowed  to  hear 
him  play  at  the  farms,  where  they  set  the  dogs 
at  him  and  called  him  the  *  Goat ' ;  but  some- 
times he  would  play  in  a  house  where  they 
spoke  softly,  and  went  about  quietly,  and  did 
not  ask  him  if  he  wanted  to  buy  any  goat- 
skins. At  such  places  he  took  out  his  violin 
and  treated  them  to  some  music ;  and  this  was 
a  great  favour — the  greatest  he  could  bestow 
upon  anybody. 

As  he  sat  there  and  played  at  the  edge  of 
the  grave  it  did  not  sound  amiss ;  he  did  not 
play  a  wrong  note,  and  he  played  so  softly  and 
gently  that  it  could  hardly  be  heard  at  the  next 
grave.  The  strange  thing  about  it  was  that  it 
was  not  the  man  who  could  play,  but  it  was 
his  violin  that  could  remember  some  small 
melodies.  They  came  forth  from  the  violin  as 
soon  as  he  let  the  bow  glide  over  it.  It  might 
not,  perhaps,  have  meant  so  much  to  others, 
but  for  him,  who  could  not  remember  a  single 
tune,  it  was  the  most  precious  gift  of  all  to  pos- 
sess such  a  violin  that  could  play  by  itself. 

Whilst  he  played  he  sat  with  a  beaming 
smile  on  his  face.  It  was  the  violin  that 
spoke  and  spoke ;  he  only  listened.  Was  it  not 
strange  that  one  heard  all  these  beautiful  things 
as  soon  as  one  let  the  bow  glide  over  the  strings  ? 
The  violin  did  that.  It  knew  how  it  ought  to 
be,  and  the  Dalar  man  only  sat  and  listened. 
Melodies  grew  out  of  that  violin  as  grass  grows 
out  of  the  earth.  No  one  could  understand  how 
it  happened.  Our  Lord  had  ordered  it  so. 
[38] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

The  Dalar  man  intended  to  remain  sitting 
there  the  whole  day,  and  let  the  dear  tunes  grow 
out  of  the  violin  like  small  white  and  many- 
coloured  flowers.  He  would  play  a  whole 
meadowful  of  flowers,  play  a  whole  long  valley- 
ful,  a  whole  wide  plain. 

But  she  who  lay  in  the  cofifin  distinctly  heard 
the  violin,  and  upon  her  it  had  a  strange  effect. 
The  tones  had  made  her  dream,  and  what  she 
had  seen  in  her  dreams  caused  her  such  emotion 
that  her  heart  began  to  beat,  her  blood  to  flow, 
and  she  awoke. 

But  all  she  had  lived  through  while  she  lay 
there,  apparently  dead,  the  thoughts  she  had  had, 
and  also  her  last  dream — everything  vanished 
in  the  same  moment  she  awoke  to  conscious- 
ness. She  did  not  even  know  that  she  was  lying 
in  her  coffin,  but  thought  she  was  still  lying  ill 
at  home  in  her  bed.  She  only  thought  it  strange 
that  she  was  still  alive.  A  little  while  ago,  before 
she  fell  asleep,  she  had  been  in  the  pangs  of 
death.  Surely,  all  must  have  been  over  with 
her  long  ago.  She  had  taken  leave  of  her 
adopted  parents,  and  of  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  of  the  servants.  The  Dean  had  been  there 
himself  to  administer  the  last  Communion,  for 
her  adopted  father  did  not  think  he  could  bear 
to  give  it  to  her  himself.  For  several  days  she 
had  put  away  all  earthly  thoughts  from  her  mind. 
It  was  incomprehensible  that  she  was  not  dead. 

She  wondered  why  it  was  so  dark  in  the  room 

where  she  lay.     There  had  been  a  light  all  the 

other  nights  during  her  illness.    And  then  they 

had  let  the  blankets  fall  off  the  bed.     She  was 

[39] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

lying  there  getting  as  cold  as  ice.  She  raised 
herself  a  Httle  to  pull  the  blankets  over  her. 
In  doing  so  she  knocked  her  head  against  the 
lid  of  the  coffin,  and  fell  back  with  a  little  scream 
of  pain.  She  had  knocked  herself  rather  se- 
verely, and  immediately  became  unconscious 
again.  She  lay  as  motionless  as  before,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  life  had  again  left  her. 

The  Dalar  man,  who  had  heard  both  the 
knock  and  the  cry,  immediately  laid  down  his 
violin  and  sat  listening;  but  there  was  nothing 
more  to  be  heard — nothing  whatever.  He  be- 
gan again  to  look  at  the  coffin  as  attentively 
as  before.  He  sat  nodding  his  head,  as  if  he 
would  say  '  Yes  '  to  what  he  was  himself  think- 
ing about,  namely,  that  nothing  in  this  world 
was  to  be  depended  upon.  Here  he  had  had 
the  best  and  most  silent  of  comrades,  but  had 
he  not  also  been  disappointed  in  him  ? 

He  sat  and  looked  at  the  coffin,  as  if  trying 
to  see  right  through  it.  At  last,  when  it  con- 
tinued quite  still,  he  took  his  violin  again  and 
began  to  play.  But  the  violin  would  not  play 
any  longer.  However  gently  and  tenderly  he 
drew  his  bow,  there  came  forth  no  melody.  This 
was  so  sad  that  he  was  nearly  crying.  He  had 
intended  to  sit  still  and  listen  to  his  violin  the 
whole  day,  and  now  it  would  not  play  any  more. 

He  could  quite  understand  the  reason.  The 
violin  was  uneasy  and  afraid  of  what  had  moved 
in  the  coffin.  It  had  forgotten  all  its  melodies, 
and  thought  only  of  what  it  could  be  that  had 
knocked  at  the  coffin-lid.  That  is  how  it  is 
one  forgets  everything  when  one  is  afraid-  He 
[40] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

saw  that  he  would  have  to  quiet  the  vioHn  if  he 
wanted  to  hear  more. 

He  had  felt  so  happy,  more  so  than  for  many 
years.  If  there  was  really  anything  bad  in  the 
coffin,  would  it  not  be  better  to  let  it  out  ?  Then 
the  violin  would  be  glad,  and  beautiful  flowers 
would  again  grow  out  of  it. 

He  quickly  opened  his  big  pack,  and  began 
to  rummage  amongst  his  knives  and  saws  and 
hammers  until  he  found  a  screw-driver.  In 
another  moment  he  was  down  in  the  grave  on 
his  knees  and  unscrewing  the  coffin-lid.  He 
took  out  one  screw  after  the  other,  until  at  last 
he  could  raise  the  lid  against  the  side  of  the 
grave ;  at  the  same  moment  the  handkerchief 
fell  from  ofif  the  face  of  the  apparently  dead  girl. 
As  soon  as  the  fresh  air  reached  Ingrid,  she 
opened  her  eyes.  Now  she  saw  that  it  was 
light.  They  must  have  removed  her.  Now 
she  was  lying  in  a  yellow  chamber  with  a  green 
ceiling,  and  a  large  chandelier  was  hanging  from 
the  ceiling.  The  chamber  was  small,  but  the 
bed  was  still  smaller.  Why  had  she  the  sen- 
sation of  her  arms  and  legs  being  tied  ?  Was 
it  because  she  should  lie  still  in  the  little  narrow 
bed?  It  was  strange  that  they  had  placed  a 
hymn-book  under  her  chin ;  they  only  did  that 
with  corpses.  Between  her  fingers  she  had  a 
little  bouquet.  Her  adopted  mother  had  cut 
a  few  sprigs  from  her  flowering  myrtle,  and 
laid  them  in  her  hands.  Ingrid  was  very  much 
surprised.  What  had  come  to  her  adopted 
mother?  She  saw  that  they  had  given  her  a 
pillow  with  broad  lace,  and  a  fine  hem-stitched 
[41] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

sheet.  She  was  very  glad  of  that ;  she  Hked  to 
have  things  nice.  Still,  she  would  rather  have 
had  a  warm  blanket  over  her.  It  could  surely 
not  be  good  for  a  sick  person  to  lie  without  a 
blanket.  Ingrid  was  nearly  putting  her  hands 
to  her  eyes  and  beginning  to  cry,  she  was  so 
bitterly  cold.  At  the  same  moment  she  felt 
something  hard  and  cold  against  her  cheek. 
She  could  not  help  smiling.  It  was  the  old, 
red  wooden  horse,  the  old  three-legged  Camilla, 
that  lay  beside  her  on  the  pillow.  Her  little 
brother,  who  could  never  sleep  at  night  without 
having  it  with  him  in  his  bed,  had  put  it  in 
her  bed.  It  was  very  sweet  of  her  little  brother. 
Ingrid  felt  still  more  inclined  to  cry  when  she 
understood  that  her  little  brother  had  wanted 
to  comfort  her  with  his  wooden  horse. 

But  she  did  not  get  so  far  as  crying.  The 
truth  all  at  once  flashed  upon  her.  Her  little 
brother  had  given  her  the  wooden  horse,  and 
her  mother  had  given  her  her  white  myrtle  flow- 
ers, and  the  hymn-book  had  been  placed  under 
her  chin,  because  they  had  thought  she  was  dead. 

Ingrid  took  hold  of  the  sides  of  the  coffin 
with  both  hands  and  raised  herself.  The  little 
narrow  bed  was  a  coffin,  and  the  little  narrow 
chamber  was  a  grave.  It  was  all  very  difficult 
to  understand.  She  could  not  understand  that 
this  concerned  her,  that  it  was  she  who  had 
been  swathed  like  a  corpse  and  placed  in  the 
grave.  She  must  be  lying  all  the  same  in  her 
bed,  and  be  seeing  or  dreaming  all  this.  She 
would  soon  find  out  that  this  was  no  reality, 
but  that  everything  was  as  usual. 
[42] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

All  at  once  she  found  the  explanation  of  the 
whole  thing- — '  I  often  have  such  strange  dreams. 
This  is  only  a  vision  ' — and  she  sighed,  relieved 
and  happy.  She  laid  herself  down  in  her  coffin 
again ;  she  was  so  sure  that  it  was  her  own 
bed,  for  that  was  not  very  wide  either. 

All  this  time  the  Dalar  man  stood  in  the 
grave,  quite  close  to  the  foot  of  the  coffin.  He 
only  stood  a  few  feet  from  her,  but  she  had  not 
seen  him ;  that  was  probably  because  he  had 
tried  to  hide  himself  in  the  corner  of  the  grave 
as  soon  as  the  dead  in  the  coffin  had  opened 
her  eyes  and  begun  to  move.  She  could,  per- 
haps, have  seen  him,  although  he  held  the  coffin- 
lid  before  him  as  a  screen,  had  there  not  been 
something  like  a  white  mist  before  her  eyes  so 
that  she  could  only  see  things  quite  near  her 
distinctly.  Ingrid  could  not  even  see  that  there 
were  earthen  walls  around  her.  She  had  taken 
the  sun  to  be  a  large  chandelier,  and  the  shady 
lime-trees  for  a  roof.  The  poor  Dalar  man  stood 
and  waited  for  the  thing  that  moved  in  the  coffin 
to  go  away.  It  did  not  strike  him  that  it  would 
not  go  unrequested.  Had  it  not  knocked  because 
it  wanted  to  get  out?  He  stood  for  a  long  time 
with  his  head  behind  the  coffin-lid  and  waited, 
that  it  should  go.  He  peeped  over  the  lid  when 
he  thought  that  now  it  must  have  gone.  But 
it  had  not  moved ;  it  remained  lying  on  its  bed 
of  shavings. 

He  could  not  put  up  with  it  any  longer ;   he 

must  really  make  an  end  of  it.     It  was  a  long 

time  since  his  violin  had  spoken  so  prettily  as 

to-day,  he  longed  to  sit  again  quietly  with  it. 

[43] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Ingrid,  who  had  nearly  fallen  asleep  again,  sud- 
denly heard  herself  addressed  in  the  sing-song 
Dalar  dialect : 

'  Now,  I  think  it  is  time  you  got  up.' 

As  soon  as  he  had  said  this  he  hid  his  head. 
He  shook  so  much  over  his  boldness  that  he 
nearly  let  the  lid  fall. 

But  the  white  mist  which  had  been  before 
Ingrid's  eyes  disappeared  completely  when  she 
heard  a  human  being  speaking.  She  saw  a  man 
standing  in  the  corner,  at  the  foot  of  the  coffin, 
holding  a  cof!in-hd  before  him.  She  saw  at 
once  that  she  could  not  lie  down  again  and  think 
it  was  a  vision.  Surely  he  was  a  reality,  which 
she  must  try  and  make  out.  It  certainly  looked 
as  if  the  coffin  were  a  cofitin,  and  the  grave  a 
grave,  and  that  she  herself  a  few  minutes  ago 
was  nothing  but  a  swathed  and  buried  corpse. 
For  the  first  time  she  was  terror-stricken  at  what 
had  happened  to  her.  To  think  that  she  could 
really  have  been  dead  that  moment !  She  could 
have  been  a  hideous  corpse,  food  for  worms. 
She  had  been  placed  in  the  coffin  for  them  to 
throw  earth  upon  her ;  she  was  worth  no  more 
than  a  piece  of  turf;  she  had  been  thrown  aside 
altogether.  The  worms  were  v/elcome  to  eat 
her;   no  one  would  mind  about  that. 

Ingrid  needed  so  badly  to  have  a  fellow- 
creature  near  her  in  her  great  terror.  She  had 
recognized  the  Goat  directly  he  put  up  his  head. 
He  was  an  old  acquaintance  from  the  parsonage ; 
she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  him.  She 
wanted  him  to  come  close  to  her.  She  did  not 
mind  in  the  least  that  he  was  an  idiot.  He  was, 
[44] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

at  any  rate,  a  living  being.  She  wanted  him  to 
come  so  near  to  her  that  she  could  feel  she  be- 
longed to  the  living  and  not  to  the  dead. 

'  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  come  close  to  me! '  she 
said,  with  tears  in  her  voice. 

She  raised  herself  in  the  coffin  and  stretched 
out  her  arms  to  him. 

But  the  Dalar  man  only  thought  of  himself. 
If  she  were  so  anxious  to  have  him  near  her,  he 
resolved  to  make  his  own  terms. 

'  Yes,'  he  said,  *  if  you  will  go  away.' 

Ingrid  at  once  tried  to  comply  with  his  re- 
quest, but  she  was  so  tightly  swathed  in  the 
sheet  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  get  up. 

'  You  must  come  and  help  me,'  she  said. 

She  said  this,  partly  because  she  was  obliged 
to  do  it,  and  partly  because  she  was  afraid  that 
she  had  not  quite  escaped  death.  She  must  be 
near  someone  living. 

He  actually  went  near  her,  squeezing  himself 
between  the  coffin  and  the  side  of  the  grave. 
He  bent  over  her,  lifted  her  out  of  the  coffin, 
and  put  her  down  on  the  grass  at  the  side  of 
the  open  grave. 

Ingrid  could  not  help  it.  She  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder 
and  sobbed.  Afterwards  she  could  not  under- 
stand how  she  had  been  able  to  do  this,  and 
that  she  was  not  afraid  of  him.  It  was  partly 
from  joy  that  he  was  a  human  being — a  living 
human  being — and  partly  from  gratitude,  be- 
cause he  had  saved  her. 

What  would  have  become  of  her  if  it  had  not 
been  for  him  ?  It  was  he  who  had  raised  the 
[45] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

coffin-lid,  who  had  brought  her  back  to  Hfe. 
She  certainly  did  not  know  how  it  had  all  hap- 
pened, but  it  was  surely  he  who  had  opened 
the  coffin.  What  would  have  happened  to  her 
if  he  had  not  done  this?  She  would  have 
awakened  to  find  herself  imprisoned  in  the 
black  coffin.  She  would  have  knocked  and 
shouted ;  but  who  would  have  heard  her  six 
feet  below  the  ground  ?  Ingrid  dared  not  think  of 
it;  she  was  entirely  absorbed  with  gratitude 
because  she  had  been  saved.  She  must  have 
someone  she  could  thank.  She  must  lay  her 
head  on  someone's  breast  and  cry  from  grati- 
tude. 

The  most  extraordinary  thing,  almost,  that 
happened  that  day  was,  that  the  Dalar  man  did 
not  repulse  her.  But  it  was  not  quite  clear  to 
him  that  she  was  alive.  He  thought  she  was 
dead,  and  he  knew  it  was  not  advisable  to  offend 
anyone  dead.  But  as  soon  as  he  could  manage, 
he  freed  himself  from  her  and  went  down  into 
the  grave  again.  He  placed  the  lid  carefully  on 
the  coffin,  put  in  the  screws  and  fastened  it  as 
before.  Then  he  thought  the  coffin  would  be 
quite  still,  and  the  violin  would  regain  its  peace 
and  its  melodies. 

In  the  meantime  Ingrid  sat  on  the  grass  and 
tried  to  collect  her  thoughts.  She  looked 
towards  the  church  and  discovered  the  horses 
and  the  carriages  on  the  hillside.  Then  she 
began  to  realize  everything.  It  was  Sunday; 
they  had  placed  her  in  the  grave  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  now  they  were  in  church. 

A  great  fear  now  seized  Ingrid.  The  service 
[46] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

would,  perhaps,  soon  be  over,  and  then  all  the 
people  would  come  out  and  see  her.  And  she 
had  nothing  on  but  a  sheet !  She  was  almost 
naked.  Fancy,  if  all  these  people  came  and  saw 
her  in  this  state !  They  would  never  forget  the 
sight.  And  she  would  be  ashamed  of  it  all  her 
life. 

Where  should  she  get  some  clothes?  For  a 
moment  she  thought  of  throwing  the  Dalar 
man's  fur  coat  round  her,  but  she  did  not  think 
that  that  would  make  her  any  more  like  other 
people. 

She  turned  quickly  to  the  crazy  man,  who 
was  still  working  at  the  coffin-lid. 

'  Oh,'  she  said,  '  will  you  let  me  creep  into 
your  pack  ? ' 

In  a  moment  she  stood  by  the  great  leather 
pack,  which  contained  goods  enough  to  fill  a 
whole  market-stall,  and  began  to  open  it. 

'  You  must  come  and  help  me.' 

She  did  not  ask  in  vain.  When  the  Dalar 
man  saw  her  touching  his  wares  he  came  up  at 
once. 

*  Are  you  touching  my  pack  ?  '  he  asked  threat- 
eningly. 

Ingrid  did  not  notice  that  he  spoke  angrily ; 
she  considered  him  to  be  her  best  friend  all 
the  time. 

*  Oh,  dear  good  man,'  she  said,  '  help  me  to 
hide,  so  that  people  will  not  see  me.  Put  your 
wares  somewhere  or  other,  and  let  me  creep 
into  the  pack,  and  carry  me  home.  Oh,  do  do 
it !  I  live  at  the  Parsonage,  and  it  is  only  a 
little  way  from  here.    You  know  where  it  is.' 

[47] 


from  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

The  man  stood  and  looked  at  her  with  stupid 
eyes.  She  did  not  know  whether  he  had  under- 
stood a  word  of  what  she  said.  She  repeated 
it,  but  he  made  no  sign  of  obeying  her.  She 
began  again  to  take  the  things  out  of  the  pack. 
Then  he  stamped  on  the  ground  and  tore  the 
pack  from  her. 

However  should  Ingrid  be  able  to  make  him 
do  what  she  wanted  ? 

On  the  grass  beside  her  lay  a  violin  and  a 
bow.  She  took  them  up  mechanically — she  did 
not  know  herself  why.  She  had  probably  been 
so  much  in  the  company  of  people  playing  the 
violin  that  she  could  not  bear  to  see  an  instru- 
ment lying  on  the  ground. 

As  soon  as  she  touched  the  violin  he  let  go 
the  pack,  and  tore  the  violin  from  her.  He  was 
evidently  quite  beside  himself  when  anyone 
touched  his  violin.     He  looked  quite  malicious. 

What  in  the  world  could  she  do  to  get  away 
before  people  came  out  of  church  ? 

She  began  to  promise  him  all  sorts  of  things, 
just  as  one  promises  children  when  one  wants 
them  to  be  good. 

*  I  will  ask  father  to  buy  a  whole  dozen  of 
scythes  from  you.  I  will  lock  up  all  the  dogs 
when  you  come  to  the  Parsonage.  I  will  ask 
mother  to  give  you  a  good  meal.' 

But  there  was  no  sign  of  his  giving  way.  She 
bethought  herself  of  the  violin,  and  said  in  her 
despair: 

'  If  you  will  carry  me  to  the  Parsonage,  I  will 
play  for  you.' 

At  last  a  smile  flashed  across  his  face.     That 
was  evidently  what  he  wanted. 
[48] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

'  I  will  play  for  you  the  whole  afternoon ;  I 
will  play  for  you  as  long  as  you  like.' 

*  Will  you  teach  the  violin  new  melodies?' 
he  asked. 

'  Of  course  I  will.' 

But  Ingrid  now  became  both  surprised  and 
unhappy,  for  he  took  hold  of  the  pack  and  pulled 
it  towards  him.  He  dragged  it  over  the  graves, 
and  the  sweet-williams  and  southernwood  that 
grew  on  them  were  crushed  under  it  as  if  it 
were  a  roller.  He  dragged  it  to  a  heap  of 
branches  and  wizened  leaves  and  old  wreaths 
lying  near  the  wall  round  the  churchyard.  There 
he  took  all  the  things  out  of  the  pack,  and  hid 
them  well  under  the  heap.  When  it  was  empty 
he  returned  to  Ingrid. 

'  Now  you  can  get  in,'  he  said. 

Ingrid  stepped  into  the  pack,  and  crouched 
down  on  the  wooden  bottom.  The  man  fastened 
all  the  straps  as  carefully  as  when  he  went  about 
with  his  usual  wares,  bent  down  so  that  he  nearly 
went  on  his  knees,  put  his  arms  through  the 
braces,  buckled  a  couple  of  straps  across  his 
chest,  and  stood  up.  When  he  had  gone  a  few 
steps  he  began  to  laugh.  His  pack  was  so  light 
that  he  could  have  danced  with  it. 

It  was  only  about  a  mile  from  the  church  to 
the  Parsonage.  The  Dalar  man  could  walk  it 
in  twenty  minutes.  Ingrid's  only  wish  was  that 
he  would  walk  so  quickly  that  she  could  get 
home  before  the  people  came  back  from  church. 
She  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  so  many  people 
seeing  her.  She  would  like  to  get  home  when 
only  her  mother  and  the  maid-servants  were  there. 
[49] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Ingrid  had  taken  with  her  the  Httle  bouquet 
of  flowers  from  her  adopted  mother's  myrtle. 
She  was  so  pleased  with  it  that  she  kissed  it 
over  and  over  again.  It  made  her  think  more 
kindly  of  her  adopted  mother  than  she  had  ever 
done  before.  But  in  any  case  she  would,  of 
course,  think  kindly  of  her  now.  One  who  has 
come  straight  from  the  grave  must  think  kindly 
and  gently  of  everything  living  and  moving  on 
the  face  of  the  earth. 

She  could  now  understand  so  well  that  the 
Pastor's  wife  was  bound  to  love  her  own  chil- 
dren more  than  her  adopted  daughter.  And 
when  they  were  so  poor  at  the  Parsonage  that 
they  could  not  afford  to  keep  a  nursemaid,  she 
could  see  now  that  it  was  quite  natural  that 
she  should  look  after  her  little  brothers  and 
sisters.  And  when  her  brothers  and  sisters 
were  not  good  to  her,  it  was  because  they  had 
become  accustomed  to  think  of  her  as  their 
nurse.  It  was  not  so  easy  for  them  to  remem- 
ber that  she  had  come  to  the  Parsonage  to  be 
their  sister. 

And,  after  all,  it  all  came  from  their  being 
poor.  When  father  some  day  got  another  living, 
and  became  Dean,  or  even  Rector,  everything 
would  surely  come  right.  Then  they  would  love 
her  again,  as  they  did  when  she  first  came  to 
them.  The  good  old  times  would  be  sure  to 
come  back  again.  Ingrid  kissed  her  flowers. 
It  had  not  been  mother's  intention,  perhaps,  to 
be  hard ;  it  was  only  worry  that  had  made  her 
so  strange  and  unkind. 

But  now  it  would  not  matter  how  unkind  they 
[50] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

were  to  her.  In  the  future  nothing  could  hurt 
her,  for  now  she  would  always  be  glad,  simply 
because  she  was  alive.  And  if  things  should 
ever  be  really  bad  again,  she  would  only  think 
of  mother's  myrtle  and  her  little  brother's  horse. 

It  was  happiness  enough  to  know  that  she  was 
being  carried  along  the  road  alive.  This  morning 
no  one  had  thought  that  she  would  ever  again 
go  over  these  roads  and  hills.  And  the  fragrant 
clover  and  the  little  birds  singing  and  the  beauti- 
ful shady  trees,  which  had  all  been  a  source  of 
joy  for  the  living,  had  not  even  existed  for  her. 
But  she  had  not  much  time  for  reflection,  for  in 
twenty  minutes  the  Dalar  man  had  reached  the 
Parsonage. 

No  one  was  at  home  but  the  Pastor's  wife  and 
the  maid-servants,  just  as  Ingrid  had  wished. 
The  Pastor's  wife  had  been  busy  the  whole 
morning  cooking  for  the  funeral  feast.  She  soon 
expected  the  guests,,  and  everything  was  nearly 
ready.  She  had  just  been  into  the  bedroom  to 
put  on  her  black  dress.  She  glanced  down  the 
road  to  the  church,  but  there  were  still  no  car- 
riages to  be  seen.  So  she  went  once  again  into 
the  kitchen  to  taste  the  food. 

She  was  quite  satisfied,  for  everything  was  as 
it  ought  to  be,  and  one  cannot  help  being  glad 
for  that,  even  if  one  is  in  mourning.  There  was 
only  one  maid  in  the  kitchen,  and  that  was  the 
one  the  Pastor's  wife  had  brought  with  her  from 
her  old  home,  so  she  felt  she  could  speak  to  her 
in  confidence. 

'  I  must  confess,  Lisa,'  she  said,  '  I  think  any- 
one would  be  pleased  with  having  such  a  funeral.' 
[51] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'  If  she  could  only  look  down  and  see  all  the 
fuss  you  make  of  her,'  Lisa  said,  '  she  would  be 
pleased.' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  the  Pastor's  wife, '  I  don't  think  she 
would  ever  be  pleased  with  me.' 

'  She  is  dead  now,'  said  the  girl,  '  and  I  am  not 
the  one  to  say  anything  against  one  who  is  hardly 
yet  under  the  ground.' 

'  I  have  had  to  bear  many  a  hard  word  from 
my  husband  for  her  sake,'  said  the  mistress. 

The  Pastor's  wife  felt  she  wanted  to  speak  with 
someone  about  the  dead  girl.  Her  conscience 
had  pricked  her  a  little  on  her  account,  and  this 
was  why  she  had  arranged  such  a  grand  funeral 
feast.  She  thought  her  conscience  might  leave 
her  alone  now  she  had  had  so  much  trouble  over 
the  funeral,  but  it  did  not  do  so  by  any  means. 
Her  husband  also  reproached  himself,  and  said 
that  the  young  girl  had  not  been  treated  like  one 
of  their  own  children,  and  that  they  had  prom- 
ised she  should  be  when  they  adopted  her;  and 
he  said  it  would  have  been  better  if  they  had 
never  taken  her,  when  they  could  not  help  letting 
her  see  that  they  loved  their  own  children  more. 
And  now  the  Pastor's  wife  felt  she  must  talk  to 
someone  about  the  young  girl,  to  hear  whether 
people  thought  she  had  treated  her  badly. 

She  saw  that  Lisa  began  to  stir  the  pan  vio- 
lently, as  if  she  had  difificulty  in  controlling  her 
anger.  She  was  a  clever  girl,  who  thoroughly 
understood  how  to  get  into  her  mistress's  good 
books. 

'  I  must  say,'  Lisa  began,  '  that  when  one  has 
a  mother  who  always  looks  after  one,  and  takes 
[52] 


the  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

care  that  one  is  neat  and  clean,  one  might  at 
least  try  to  obey  and  please  her.  And  when  one 
is  allowed  to  live  in  a  good  Parsonage,  and  to 
be  educated  respectably,  one  ought  at  least  to 
give  some  return  for  it,  and  not  always  go  idling 
about  and  dreaming.  I  should  like  to  know  what 
would  have  happened  if  you  had  not  taken  the 
poor  thing  in.  I  suppose  she  would  have  been 
running  about  with  those  acrobats,  and  have  died 
in  the  streets,  like  any  other  poor  wretch.' 

A  man  from  Dalarne  came  across  the  yard ; 
he  had  his  pack  on  his  back,  although  it  was  Sun- 
day. He  came  very  quietly  through  the  open 
kitchen-door,  and  curtsied  when  he  entered,  but 
no  one  took  any  notice  of  him.  Both  the  mis- 
tress and  the  maid  saw  him,  but  as  they  knew 
him,  they  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  interrupt 
their  conversation. 

The  Pastor's  wife  was  anxious  to  continue  it ; 
she  felt  she  was  about  to  hear  what  she  needed  to 
ease  her  conscience. 

'  It  is  perhaps  as  well  she  is  gone,'  she  said. 

'  Yes,  ma'am,'  the  servant  said  eagerly;  'and 
I  am  sure  the  Pastor  thinks  just  the  same.  In 
any  case  he  soon  will.  And  the  mistress  will 
see  that  now  there  will  be  more  peace  in  the 
house,  and  I  am  sure  the  master  needs  it.' 

'  Oh ! '  said  the  Pastor's  wife,  '  I  was  obliged 
to  be  careful.  There  were  always  so  many 
clothes  to  be  got  for  her,  that  it  was  quite  dread- 
ful. He  was  so  afraid  that  she  should  not  get  as 
much  as  the  others  that  she  sometimes  even  had 
more.  And  it  cost  so  much,  now  that  she  was 
grown  up,' 

[53] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'  I  suppose,  ma'am,  Greta  will  get  her  muslin 
dress? ' 

'  Yes ;  either  Greta  will  have  it,  or  I  shall  use 
it  myself.' 

'  She  does  not  leave  much  behind  her,  poor 
thing  I ' 

'  No  one  expects  her  to  leave  anything,'  said 
her  adopted  mother.  '  I  should  be  quite  content 
if  I  could  remember  ever  having  had  a  kind  word 
from  her.' 

This  is  only  the  kind  of  thing  one  says  when 
one  has  a  bad  conscience,  and  wants  to  excuse 
one's  self.  Her  adopted  mother  did  not  really 
mean  what  she  said. 

The  Dalar  man  behaved  exactly  as  he  always 
did  when  he  came  to  sell  his  wares.  He  stood 
for  a  httle  while  looking  round  the  kitchen  ;  then 
he  slowly  pushed  the  pack  on  to  a  table,  and  un- 
fastened the  braces  and  the  straps ;  then  he 
looked  round  to  see  if  there  were  any  cats  or 
dogs  about.  He  then  straightened  his  back,  and 
began  to  unfasten  the  two  leather  flaps,  which 
were  fastened  with  numerous  buckles  and  knots. 

'  He  need  not  trouble  about  opening  his  pack 
to-day,'  Lisa  said ;  '  it  is  Sunday,  and  he  knows 
quite  well  we  don't  buy  anything  on  Sundays.' 

She,  however,  took  no  notice  of  the  crazy  fel- 
low, who  continued  to  unfasten  his  straps.  She 
turned  round  to  her  mistress.  This  was  a  good 
opportunity  for  insinuating  herself. 

'  I  don't  even  know  whether  she  was  good  to 
the  children.  I  have  often  heard  them  cry  in 
the  nursery.' 

*  I  suppose  it  was  the  same  with  them  as  it 

[54] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE     • 

was  with  their  mother,'  said  the  Pastor's  wife; 
'  but  now,  of  course,  they  cry  because  she  is 
dead.' 

'  They  don't  understand  what  is  best  for  them,' 
said  the  servant ;  '  but  the  mistress  can  be  certain 
that  before  a  month  is  gone  there  will  be  no  one 
to  cry  over  her.' 

At  the  same  moment  they  both  turned  round 
from  the  kitchen  range,  and  looked  towards  the 
table,  where  the  Dalar  man  stood  opening  his 
big  pack.  They  had  heard  a  strange  noise,  some- 
thing Hke  a  sigh  or  a  sob.  The  man  was  just 
opening  the  inside  lid,  and  out  of  the  pack  rose 
the  newly-buried  birl,  exactly  the  same  as  when 
they  laid  her  in  the  coffin. 

And  yet  she  did  not  look  quite  the  same.  She 
looked  almost  more  dead  now  than  when  she  was 
laid  in  her  coffin.  Then  she  had  nearly  the  same 
colour  as  when  she  was  alive ;  now  her  face  was 
ashy-gray,  there  was  a  bluish-black  shadow 
round  her  mouth,  and  her  eyes  lay  deep  in  her 
head.  She  said  nothing,  but  her  face  expressed 
the  greatest  despair,  and  she  held  out  beseech- 
ingly, and  as  if  to  avert  their  anger,  the  bou- 
quet of  myrtle  which  she  had  received  from  her 
adopted  mother. 

This  sight  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could 
stand.  Her  mother  fell  fainting  to  the  ground ; 
the  maid  stood  still  for  a  moment,  gazing  at  the 
mother  and  daughter,  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hands,  and  rushed  into  her  own  room  and  locked 
the  door. 

'  It  is  not  me  she  has  come  for ;  this  does  not 
concern  me.' 

[55] 


From  a  StVEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

But  Ingrid  turned  round  to  the  Dalar  man. 

'  Put  me  in  your  pack  again,  and  take  me  away. 
Do  you  hear  ?  Take  me  away.  Take  me  back  to 
where  you  found  me.' 

The  Dalar  man  happened  to  look  through  the 
window.  A  long  row  of  carts  and  carriages  was 
coming  up  the  avenue  and  into  the  yard.  Ah, 
indeed  !  then  he  was  not  going  to  stay.  He  did 
not  like  that  at  all. 

Ingrid  crouched  down  at  the  bottom  of  the 
pack.  She  said  not  another  word,  but  only 
sobbed.  The  flaps  and  the  lids  were  fastened, 
and  she  was  again  lifted  on  to  his  back  and  carried 
away.  Those  who  were  coming  to  the  funeral 
feast  laughed  at  the  Goat,  who  hastened  away, 
curtsying  and  curtsying  to  every  horse  he  met. 


Anna  Stina  was  an  old  woman  who  lived  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest.  She  gave  a  helping  hand 
at  the  Parsonage  now  and  then,  and  always 
managed  opportunely  to  come  down  the  hillside 
when  they  were  baking  or  washing.  She  was  a 
nice,  clever  old  woman,  and  she  and  Ingrid  were 
good  friends.  As  soon  as  the  young  girl  was  able 
to  collect  her  thoughts,  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
take  refuge  with  her. 

'  Listen,'  she  said  to  the  Dalar  man.  '  When 
you  get  onto  the  highroad,  turn  into  the  forest ; 
then  go  straight  on  until  you  come  to  a  gate  ;  there 
you  must  turn  to  the  left ;  then  you  must  go 
straight  on  until  you  come  to  the  large  gravel-pit. 
[56] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

From  there  you  can  see  a  house :  take  me  there, 
and  I  will  play  to  you.' 

The  short  and  harsh  manner  in  which  she  gave 
her  orders  jarred  upon  her  ears,  but  she  was 
obliged  to  speak  in  this  way  in  order  to  be  obeyed ; 
it  was  the  only  chance  she  had.  What  right  had 
she  to  order  another  person  about — she  who  had 
not  even  the  right  to  be  alive? 

After  all  this  she  would  never  again  be  able  to 
feel  as  if  she  had  any  right  to  live.  This  was  the 
most  dreadful  part  of  all  that  had  happened  to 
her:  that  she  could  have  lived  in  the  Parsonage 
for  six  years,  and  not  even  been  able  to  make  her- 
self so  much  loved  that  they  wished  to  keep  her 
alive.  And  those  whom  no  one  loves  have  no 
right  to  live.  She  could  not  exactly  say  how  she 
knew  it  was  so,  but  it  was  as  clear  as  daylight. 
She  knew  it  from  the  feeling  that  the  same  mo- 
ment she  heard  that  they  did  not  care  about  her 
an  iron  hand  seemed  to  have  crushed  her  heart  as 
if  to  make  it  stop.  Yes,  it  was  life  itself  that  had 
been  closed  for  her.  And  the  same  moment  she 
had  come  back  from  death,  and  felt  the  delight  of 
being  alive  burn  brightly  and  strongly  within  her, 
just  at  that  moment  the  one  thing  that  gave  her 
the  right  of  existing  had  been  torn  from  her. 

This  was  worse  than  sentence  of  death.  It  was 
much  more  cruel  than  an  ordinary  sentence  of 
death.  She  knew  what  it  was  like.  It  was  like 
felling  a  tree — not  in  the  usual  manner,  when  the 
trunk  is  cut  through,  but  by  cutting  its  roots  and 
leaving  it  standing  in  the  ground  to  die  by  itself. 
There  the  tree  stands,  and  cannot  understand  why 
it  no  longer  gets  nourishment  and  support.  It 
[S7l 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Struggles  and  strives  to  live,  but  the  leaves  get 
smaller  and  smaller,  it  sends  forth  no  fresh  shoots, 
the  bark  falls  off,  and  it  must  die,  because  it  is  sev- 
ered from  the  spring  of  life.    Thus  it  is  it  must  die. 

At  last  the  Dalar  man  put  down  his  pack  on  the 
stone  step  outside  a  little  house  in  the  midst  of  the 
wild  forest.  The  door  was  locked,  but  as  soon  as 
Ingrid  had  got  out  of  the  pack  she  took  the  key 
from  under  the  doorstep,  opened  the  door,  and 
walked  in. 

Ingrid  knew  the  house  thoroughly  and  all  it 
contained.  It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  come 
there  for  comfort ;  it  was  not  the  first  time  she  had 
come  and  told  old  Anna  Stina  that  she  could  not 
bear  living  at  home  any  longer — that  her  adopted 
mother  was  so  hard  to  her  that  she  would  not  go 
back  to  the  Parsonage.  But  every  time  she  came 
the  old  woman  had  talked  her  over  and  quieted 
her.  She  had  made  her  some  terrible  coffee  from 
roasted  peas  and  chicory,  without  a  single  coffee- 
bean  in  it,  but  which  had  all  the  same  given  her 
new  courage,  and  in  the  end  she  had  made  her 
laugh  at  everything,  and  encouraged  her  so  much, 
that  she  had  simply  danced  down  the  hillside  on 
her  way  home. 

Even  if  Anna  Stina  had  been  at  home,  and  had 
made  some  of  her  terrible  coffee,  it  would  prob- 
ably not  have  helped  Ingrid  this  time.  But  the 
old  woman  was  down  at  the  Parsonage  to  the 
funeral  feast,  for  the  Pastor's  wife  had  not  forgot- 
ten to  invite  any  of  those  of  whom  Ingrid  had 
been  fond.  That,  too,  was  probably  the  result  of 
an  uneasy  conscience. 

But  in  Anna's  room  everything  was  as  usual. 
[58] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

And  when  Ingrid  saw  the  sofa  with  the  wooden 
seat,  and  the  clean,  scoured  table,  and  the  cat,  and 
the  coffee-kettle,  although  she  did  not  feel  com- 
forted or  cheered,  she  felt  that  here  was  a  place 
where  she  could  give  vent  to  her  sorrow.  It  was 
a  relief  that  here  she  need  not  think  of  anything 
but  crying  and  moaning. 

She  went  straight  to  the  settle,  threw  herself  on 
the  wooden  seat,  and  lay  there  crying,  she  did  not 
know  for  how  long. 

The  Dalar  man  sat  outside  on  the  stone  step ; 
he  did  not  want  to  go  into  the  house  on  account  of 
the  cat.  He  expected  that  Ingrid  would  come 
out  and  play  to  him.  He  had  taken  the  violin  out 
long  ago.  As  it  was  such  a  long  time  before  she 
came,  he  began  to  play  himself.  He  played  softly 
and  gently,  as  was  his  wont.  It  was  barely  possi- 
ble for  the  young  girl  to  hear  him  playing. 

Ingrid  had  one  fit  of  shivering  after  the  other. 
This  was  how  she  had  been  before  she  fell  ill. 
She  would  no  doubt  be  ill  again.  It  was  also  best 
that  the  fever  should  come  and  put  an  end  to  her 
in  earnest. 

When  she  heard  the  violin,  she  rose  and  looked 
round  with  bewildered  glance.  Who  was  that 
playing?  Was  that  her  student?  Had  he  come 
at  last  ?  It  soon  struck  her,  however,  that  it  was 
the  Dalar  man,  and  she  lay  down  again  with  a 
sigh.  She  could  not  follow  what  he  was  playing. 
But  as  soon  as  she  closed  her  eyes  the  violin  as- 
sumed the  student's  voice.  She  also  heard  what 
he  said ;  he  spoke  with  her  adopted  mother  and 
defended  her.  He  spoke  just  as  nicely  as  he  had 
done  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren.  Ingrid  needed 
[59] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

love  so  much,  he  said.  That  was  what  she 
had  missed.  That  was  why  she  had  not  always 
attended  to  her  work,  but  allowed  dreams  to 
fill  her  mind.  But  no  one  knew  how  she  could 
work  and  slave  for  those  who  loved  her.  For 
their  sake  she  could  bear  sorrow  and  sickness,  and 
contempt  and  poverty ;  for  them  she  would  be  as 
strong  as  a  giant,  and  as  patient  as  a  slave. 

Ingrid  heard  him  distinctly  and  she  became 
quiet.  Yes,  it  was  true.  If  only  her  adopted 
mother  had  loved  her,  she  would  have  seen  what 
Ingrid  was  worth.  But  as  she  did  not  love  her, 
Ingrid  was  paralyzed  in  her  efforts.  Yes,  so  it 
had  been. 

Now  the  fever  had  left  her,  she  only  lay  and 
listened  to  what  the  student  said.  She  slept  a 
little  now  and  then ;  time  after  time  she  thought 
she  was  lying  in  her  grave,  and  then  it  was  always 
the  student  who  came  and  took  her  out  of  the  cof- 
fin.    She  lay  and  disputed  with  him. 

'  When  I  am  dreaming  it  is  you  who  come,'  she 
said. 

'  It  is  always  I  who  come  to  you,  Ingrid,'  he 
said.  *  I  thought  you  knew  that.  I  take  you  out 
of  the  grave ;  I  carry  you  on  my  shoulders ;  I 
play  you  to  sleep.     It  is  always  I.' 

What  disturbed  and  awoke  her  was  the  thought 
that  she  had  to  get  up  and  play  for  the  Dalar  man. 
Several  times  she  rose  up  to  do  it,  but  could  not. 
As  soon  as  she  fell  back  upon  the  settle  she  began 
to  dream.  She  sat  crouching  in  the  pack  and  the 
student  carried  her  through  the  forest.  It  was 
always  he. 

*  But  it  was  not  you,'  she  said  to  him. 
[60] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

'  Of  course  it  was  1/  he  said,  smiling  at  her 
contradicting  him.  '  You  have  been  thinking 
about  me  every  day  for  all  these  years ;  so  you 
can  understand  I  could  not  help  saving  you  when 
you  were  in  such  great  danger.' 

Of  course  she  saw  the  force  of  his  argument ; 
and  then  she  began  to  realize  that  he  was  right, 
and  that  it  was  he.  But  this  was  such  infinite  bliss 
that  she  again  awoke.  Love  seemed  to  fill  her 
whole  being.  It  could  not  have  been  more  real 
had  she  seen  and  spoken  with  her  beloved. 

'Why  does  he  never  come  in  real  life?'  she 
said,  half  aloud.  '  Why  does  he  only  come  in  my 
dreams?  ' 

She  did  not  dare  to  move,  for  then  love  would 
fly  away.  It  was  as  if  a  timid  bird  had  settled  on 
her  shoulder,  and  she  was  afraid  of  frightening 
it  away.  If  she  moved,  the  bird  would  fly  away, 
and  sorrow  would  overcome  her. 

When  at  last  she  really  awoke,  it  was  twilight. 
She  must  have  slept  the  whole  afternoon  and  even- 
ing. At  that  time  of  the  year  it  was  not  dark  until 
after  ten  o'clock.  The  violin  had  ceased  playing, 
and  the  Dalar  man  had  probably  gone  away. 

Anna  Stina  had  not  yet  come  back.  She  would 
probably  be  away  the  whole  night.  It  did  not 
matter  to  Ingrid  ;  all  she  wanted  was  to  lie  down 
again  and  sleep.  She  was  afraid  of  all  the  sorrow 
and  despair  that  would  overwhelm  her  as  soon  as 
she  awoke.  But  then  she  got  something  new  to 
think  about.  Who  could  have  closed  the  door? 
who  had  spread  Anna  Stina's  great  shawl  over 
her?  and  who  had  placed  a  piece  of  dry  bread 
beside  her  on  the  seat?  Had  he,  the  Goat,  done 
[6i] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

all  this  for  her?  For  a  moment  she  thought  she 
saw  dream  and  reality  standing  side  by  side,  try- 
ing which  could  best  console  her.  And  the  dream 
stood  joyous  and  smiling,  showering  over  her  all 
the  bHss  of  love  to  comfort  her.  But  Hfe,  poor, 
hard,  and  bitter  though  it  was,  also  brought  its 
kindly  Httle  mite  to  show  that  it  did  not  mean  to 
be  so  hard  upon  her  as  perhaps  she  thought. 


VI 

Ingrid  and  Anna  Stina  were  walking  through 
the  dark  forest.  They  had  been  walking  for  four 
days,  and  had  slept  three  nights  in  the  Sater  huts. 
Ingrid  was  weak  and  weary  ;  her  face  was  trans- 
parently pale ;  her  eyes  were  sunken,  and  shone 
feverishly.  Old  Anna  Stina  now  and  then  secretly 
cast  an  anxious  look  at  her,  and  prayed  to  God 
that  He  would  sustain  her  so  that  she  might  not 
die  by  the  wayside.  Now  and  then  the  old 
woman  could  not  help  looking  behind  her  with 
uneasiness.  She  had  an  uncomfortable  feehng 
that  the  old  man  with  his  scythe  came  stealthily 
after  them  through  the  forest  to  reclaim  the 
young  girl  who,  both  by  the  word  of  God  and  the 
casting  of  earth  upon  her,  had  been  consecrated 
to  him. 

Old  Anna  Stina  was  little  and  broad,  with  a 
large,  square  face,  which  was  so  intelligent  that 
it  was  almost  good-looking.  She  was  not  super- 
stitious— she  lived  quite  alone  in  the  midst  of  the 
forest  without  being  afraid  either  of  witches  or 
evil  spirits — but  as  she  walked  there  by  the  side 
[62] 


7he  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

of  Ingrid  she  felt  as  distinctly  as  if  someone  had 
told  her  that  she  was  walking  beside  a  being  who 
did  not  belong  to  this  world.  She  had  had  that 
sensation  ever  since  she  had  found  Ingrid  lying  in 
her  house  that  Monday  morning. 

Anna  Stina  had  not  returned  home  on  the  Sun- 
day evening,  for  down  at  the  Parsonage  the  Pas- 
tor's wife  had  been  taken  very  ill,  and  Anna  Stina. 
who  was  accustomed  to  nurse  sick  people,  had 
stayed  to  sit  up  with  her.  The  whole  night  she 
had  heard  the  Pastor's  wife  raving  about  Ingrid's 
having  appeared  to  her ;  but  that  the  old  woman 
had  not  believed.  And  when  she  returned  home 
the  next  day  and  found  Ingrid,  the  old  woman 
would  at  once  have  gone  down  to  the  Parsonage 
again  to  tell  them  that  it  was  not  a  ghost  they  had 
seen  ;  but  when  she  had  suggested  this  to  Ingrid, 
it  had  affected  her  so  much  that  she  dared  not  do 
it.  It  was  as  if  the  little  life  which  burnt  in  her 
would  be  extinguished,  just  as  the  flame  of  a  can- 
dle is  put  out  by  too  strong  a  draught.  She  could 
have  died  as  easily  as  a  little  bird  in  its  cage. 
Death  was  prowling  around  her.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  nurse  her  very  tenderly 
and  deal  very  gently  with  her  if  her  life  was  to  be 
preserved. 

The  old  woman  hardly  knew  what  to  think  of 
Ingrid.  Perhaps  she  was  a  ghost ;  there  seemed 
to  be  so  little  life  in  her.  She  quite  gave  up  trying 
to  talk  her  to  reason.  There  was  nothing  else  for 
it  but  giving  in  to  her  wishes  that  no  one  should 
hear  anything  about  her  being  alive.  And  then 
the  old  woman  tried  to  arrange  everything  as 
wisely  as  possible.  She  had  a  sister  who  was 
[63] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

housekeeper  on  a  large  estate  in  Dalarne,  and  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  take  Ingrid  to  her,  and  per- 
suade her  sister,  Stafva,  to  give  the  girl  a  situation 
at  the  Manor  House.  Ingrid  would  have  to  be 
content  with  being  simply  a  servant.  There  was 
nothing  else  for  it. 

They  were  now  on  their  way  to  the  Manor 
House.  Anna  Stina  knew  the  country  so  well 
that  they  were  not  obliged  to  go  by  the  highroad, 
but  could  follow  the  lonely  forest  paths.  But  they 
had  also  undergone  much  hardship.  Their  shoes 
were  worn  and  in  pieces,  their  skirts  soiled  and 
frayed  at  the  bottom,  and  a  branch  had  torn  a 
long  rent  in  Ingrid's  sleeve. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  they  came  to  a 
hill  from  which  they  could  look  down  into  a  deep 
valley.  In  the  valley  was  a  lake,  and  near  the 
edge  of  the  lake  was  a  high,  rocky  island,  upon 
which  stood  a  large  white  building.  When  Anna 
Stina  saw  the  house,  she  said  it  was  called  Munk- 
hyttan,  and  that  it  was  there  her  sister  lived. 

They  made  themselves  as  tidy  as  they  could  on 
the  hillside.  Tliey  arranged  the  handkerchiefs 
which  they  wore  on  their  heads,  dried  their  shoes 
with  moss,  and  washed  themselves  in  a  forest 
stream,  and  Anna  Stina  tried  to  make  a  fold  in  In- 
grid's sleeve  so  that  the  rent  could  not  be  seen. 

The  old  woman  sighed  when  she  looked  at 
Ingrid,  and  quite  lost  courage.  It  was  not  only 
that  she  looked  so  strange  in  the  clothes  she  had 
borrowed  from  Anna  Stina,  and  which  did  not  at 
all  fit  her,  but  her  sister  Stafva  would  never  take 
her  into  her  service,  she  looked  so  wretched  and 
pitiful.  It  was  like  engaging  a  breath  of  wind. 
[64] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

The  girl  could  be  of  no  more  use  than  a  sick 
butterfly. 

As  soon  as  they  were  ready,  they  went  down  the 
hill  to  the  lake.  It  was  only  a  short  distance. 
Then  they  came  to  the  land  belonging  to  the 
Manor  House. 

Was  that  a  country  house  ? 

There  were  large  neglected  fields,  upon  which 
the  forest  encroached  more  and  more.  There 
was  a  bridge  leading  on  to  the  island,  so  shaky 
that  they  hardly  thought  it  would  keep  together 
until  they  were  safely  over.  There  was  an  ave- 
nue leading  from  the  bridge  to  the  main  building, 
covered  with  grass,  like  a  meadow,  and  a  tree 
which  had  been  blown  down  had  been  left  lying 
across  the  road. 

The  island  was  pretty  enough,  so  pretty  that  a 
castle  might  very  well  have  been  built  there.  But 
nothing  but  weeds  grew  in  the  garden,  and  in  the 
large  park  the  trees  were  choking  each  other,  and 
black  snakes  glided  over  the  green,  wet  walks. 

Anna  Stina  felt  uneasy  when  she  saw  how  neg- 
lected everything  was,  and  went  along  mumbling 
to  herself :  '  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  Is  Stafva 
dead  ?  How  can  she  stand  everything  looking 
like  this  ?  Things  were  very  different  thirty  years 
ago,  when  I  was  last  here.  What  in  the  world 
can  be  the  matter  with  Stafva?'  She  could  not 
imagine  that  there  could  be  such  neglect  in  any 
place  where  Stafva  lived. 

Ingrid  walked  behind  her,  slowly  and  re- 
luctantly. The  moment  she  put  her  foot  on  the 
bridge  she  felt  that  there  were  not  two  walking 
there,  but  three.  Someone  had  come  to  meet  her 
[65] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

there,  and  had  turned  back  to  accompany  her. 
Ingrid  heard  no  footsteps,  but  he  who  accom- 
panied them  appeared  indistinctly  by  her  side. 
She  could  see  there  was  someone. 

She  became  terribly  afraid.  She  was  just  going 
to  beg  Anna  Stina  to  turn  back  and  tell  her  that 
everything  seemed  so  strange  here  that  she  dare 
not  go  any  further.  But  before  she  had  time  to 
say  anything,  the  stranger  came  quite  close  to  her, 
and  she  recognised  him.  Before,  she  only  saw 
him  indistinctly ;  now  she  saw  him  so  clearly 
that  she  could  see  it  was  the  student. 

It  no  longer  seemed  weird  and  ghost-Hke  that 
he  walked  there.  It  was  only  strangely  delightful 
that  he  came  to  receive  her.  It  was  as  if  it  were 
he  who  had  brought  her  there,  and  would,  by 
coming  to  welcome  her,  show  that  it  was. 

He  walked  with  her  over  the  bridge,  through 
the  avenue,  quite  up  to  the  main  building. 

She  could  not  help  turning  her  head  every 
moment  to  the  left.  It  was  there  she  saw  his  face, 
quite  close  to  her  cheek.  It  was  really  not  a  face 
that  she  saw,  only  an  unspeakably  beautiful  smile 
that  drew  tenderly  near  her.  But  if  she  turned 
her  head  quite  round  to  see  it  properly,  it  was  no 
longer  there.  No,  there  was  nothing  one  could 
see  distinctly.  But  as  soon  as  she  looked  straight 
before  her,  it  was  there  again,  quite  close  to 
her. 

Her  invisible  companion  did  not  speak  to  her, 
he  only  smiled.  But  that  was  enough  for  her.  It 
was  more  than  enough  to  show  her  that  there  was 
one  in  the  world  who  kept  near  her  with  tender 
love. 

[66] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

She  felt  his  presence  as  something  so  real,  that 
she  firmly  believed  he  protected  her  and  watched 
over  her.  And  before  this  happy  consciousness 
vanished  all  the  despair  which  her  adopted  moth- 
er's hard  words  had  called  forth. 

Ingrid  felt  herself  again  given  back  to  life.  She 
had  the  right  to  live,  as  there  was  one  who  loved 
her. 

And  this  was  why  she  entered  the  kitchen  at 
Munkhyttan  with  a  faint  blush  on  her  cheeks,  and 
with  radiant  eyes,  fragile,  weak,  and  transparent, 
but  sweet  as  a  newly-opened  rose. 

She  still  went  about  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  did  not 
know  much  about  where  she  was ;  but  what  sur- 
prised her  so  much  that  it  nearly  awakened  her 
was  to  see  a  new  Anna  Stina  standing  by  the  fire- 
place. She  stood  there,  little  and  broad,  with  a 
large,  square  face,  exactly  like  the  other.  But 
why  was  she  so  fine,  with  a  white  cap  with  strings 
tied  in  a  large  bow  under  her  chin,  and  with  a 
black  bombazine  dress?  Ingrid's  head  was  so 
confused,  that  it  was  some  time  before  it  occurred 
to  her  that  this  must  be  Miss  Stafva. 

She  felt  that  Anna  Stina  looked  uneasily  at  her, 
and  she  tried  to  pull  herself  together  and  say 
'  Good-day.'  But  the  only  thing  her  mind  could 
grasp  was  the  thought  that  he  had  come  to  her. 

Inside  the  kitchen  there  was  a  small  room,  with 
blue-checked  covering  on  the  furniture.  They 
were  taken  into  that  room,  and  Miss  Stafva  gave 
them  coffee  and  something  to  eat. 

Anna  Stina  at  once  began  to  talk  about 
their  errand.  She  spoke  for  a  long  time ;  said 
that  she  knew  her  sister  stood  so  high  in  her  lady- 
[67] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

ship's  favour  that  she  left  it  to  her  to  engage  the 
servants.  Miss  Stafva  said  nothing,  but  she  gave 
a  look  at  Ingrid  as  much  as  to  say  that  it  would 
hardly  have  been  left  with  her  if  she  had  chosen 
servants  like  her. 

Anna  Stina  praised  Ingrid,  and  said  she  was  a 
good  girl.  She  had  hitherto  served  in  a  parson- 
age, but  now  that  she  was  grown  up  she  wanted 
really  to  learn  something,  and  that  was  why  Anna 
Stina  had  brought  her  to  one  who  could  teach  her 
more  than  any  other  person  she  knew. 

Miss  Stafva  did  not  reply  to  this  remark  either. 
But  her  glance  plainly  showed  that  she  was  sur- 
prised that  anyone  who  had  had  a  situation  in  a 
parsonage  had  no  clothes  of  her  own,  but  was 
obliged  to  borrow  old  Anna  Stina's. 

Then  old  Anna  Stina  began  to  tell  how  she  lived 
quite  alone  in  the  forest,  deserted  by  all  her  rela- 
tives. And  this  young  girl  had  come  running  up 
the  hill  many  an  evening  and  many  an  early 
morning  to  see  her.  She  had  therefore  thought 
and  hoped  that  she  could  now  help  her  to  get  a 
good  situation. 

Miss  Stafva  said  it  was  a  pity  that  they  had  gone 
such  a  long  way  to  find  a  place.  If  she  were  a 
clever  girl,  she  could  surely  get  a  situation  in 
some  good  family  in  their  own  neighbourhood. 

Anna  Stina  could  now  clearly  see  that  Ingrid's 
prospects  were  not  good,  and  therefore  she  began 
in  a  more  solemn  vein : 

'  Here  you  have  lived,  Stafva,  and  had  a  good, 

comfortable  home  all  your  life,  and  I  have  had  to 

fight  my  way  in  great  poverty.     But  I  have  never 

asked  you  for  anything  before  to-day.    And  now 

[68] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

you  will  send  me  away  like  a  beggar,  to  whom 
one  gives  a  meal  and  nothing  more.' 

Miss  Stafva  smiled  a  little  ;  then  she  said : 

'  Sister  Anna  Stina,  you  are  not  telling  me  the 
truth.  I,  too,  come  from  Raglanda,  and  I  should 
like  to  know  at  what  peasant's  house  in  that 
parish  grow  such  eyes  and  such  a  face.' 

And  she  pointed  at  Ingrid,  and  continued : 

'  I  can  quite  understand,  Anna  Stina,  that  you 
would  like  to  help  one  who  looks  like  that.  But  I 
do  not  understand  how  you  can  think  that  your 
sister  Stafva  has  not  more  sense  than  to  believe 
the  stories  you  choose  to  tell  her.' 

Anna  Stina  was  so  frightened  that  she  could  not 
say  a  word,  but  Ingrid  made  up  her  mind  to  con- 
fide in  Miss  Stafva,  and  began  at  once  to  tell  her 
whole  story  in  her  soft,  beautiful  voice. 

And  Ingrid  had  hardly  told  of  how  she  had 
been  lying  in  the  grave,  and  that  a  Dalar  man  had 
come  and  saved  her,  before  old  Miss  Stafva  grew 
red  and  quickly  bent  down  to  hide  it.  It  was  only 
a  second,  but  there  must  have  been  some  cause  for 
it,  for  from  that  moment  she  looked  so  kind. 

She  soon  began  to  ask  full  particulars  about  it ; 
more  especially  she  wanted  to  know  about  the 
crazy  man,  whether  Ingrid  had  not  been  afraid  of 
him.  Oh  no,  he  did  no  harm.  He  was  not  mad, 
Ingrid  said  ;  he  could  both  buy  and  sell.  He  was 
only  frightened  of  some  things. 

Ingrid  thought  the  hardest  of  all  was  to  tell 
what  she  had  heard  her  adopted  mother  say.  But 
she  told  everything,  although  there  were  tears  in 
her  voice. 

Then  Miss  Stafva  went  up  to  her,  drew  back  the 
[69] 


From  a  SlTEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

handkerchief  from  her  head,  and  looked  into  her 
eyes.    Then  she  patted  her  Hghtly  on  the  cheek. 

'  Never  mind  that,  Httle  miss,'  she  said.  *  There 
is  no  need  for  me  to  know  about  that.  Now  sister 
and  Miss  Ingrid  must  excuse  me,'  she  said  soon 
after, '  but  I  must  take  up  her  ladyship's  coffee.  I 
shall  soon  be  down  again,  and  you  can  tell  me 
more.' 

When  she  returned,  she  said  she  had  told  her 
ladyship  about  the  young  girl  who  had  lain  in  the 
grave,  and  now  her  mistress  wanted  to  see  her. 

They  were  taken  upstairs,  and  shown  into  her 
ladyship's  boudoir. 

Anna  Stina  remained  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  fine  room.  But  Ingrid  was  not  shy  ;  she  went 
straight  up  to  the  old  lady  and  put  out  her  hand. 
She  had  often  been  shy  with  others  who  looked 
much  less  aristocratic ;  but  here,  in  this  house, 
she  did  not  feel  embarrassed.  She  only  felt  so 
wonderfully  happy  that  she  had  come  there. 

*  So  it  is  you,  my  child,  who  have  been  buried,' 
said  her  ladyship,  nodding  friendlily  to  her.  *  Do 
you  mind  telling  me  your  story,  my  child?  I  sit 
here  quite  alone,  and  never  hear  anything,  you 
know.' 

Then  Ingrid  began  again  to  tell  her  story.  But 
she  had  not  got  very  far  before  she  was  inter- 
rupted. Her  ladyship  did  exactly  the  same  as 
Miss  Stafva  had  done.  She  rose,  pushed  the 
handkerchief  back  from  Ingrid's  forehead  and 
looked  into  her  eyes. 

*  Yes,'  her  ladyship  said  to  herself,  '  that  I  can 
understand.  I  can  understand  that  he  must  obey 
those  eyes.' 

[70] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

For  the  first  time  in  her  Hfe  Ingrid  was  praised 
for  her  courage.  Her  ladyship  thought  she  had 
been  very  brave  to  place  herself  in  the  hands  of  a 
crazy  fellow. 

She  was  afraid,  she  said,  but  she  was  still  more 
afraid  of  people  seeing  her  in  that  state.  And  he 
did  no  harm  ;  he  was  almost  quite  right,  and  then 
he  was  so  good. 

Her  ladyship  wanted  to  know  his  name,  but 
Ingrid  did  not  know  it.  She  had  never  heard  of 
any  other  name  but  the  Goat.  Her  ladyship  asked 
several  times  how  he  managed  when  he  came  to 
do  business.  Had  she  not  laughed  at  him,  and  did 
she  not  think  that  he  looked  terrible — the  Goat? 
It  sounded  so  strange  when  her  ladyship  said  '  the 
Goat.'  There  was  so  much  bitterness  in  her  voice 
when  she  said  it,  and  yet  she  said  it  over  and  over 
again. 

No ;  Ingrid  did  not  think  so,  and  she  never 
laughed  at  unfortunate  people.  The  old  lady 
looked  more  gentle  than  her  words  sounded. 

*  It  appears  you  know  how  to  manage  mad  peo- 
ple, my  child,'  she  said.  '  That  is  a  great  gift. 
Most  people  are  afraid  of  such  poor  creatures.' 
She  listened  to  all  Ingrid  had  to  say,  and  sat  medi- 
tating. *  As  you  have  not  any  home,  my  child,' 
she  said,  '  will  you  not  stay  here  with  me  ?  You 
see,  I  am  an  old  woman  living  here  by  myself,  and 
you  can  keep  me  company,  and  I  shall  take  care 
that  you  have  everything  you  want.  What  do 
you  say  to  it,  my  child  ?  There  will  come  a  time, 
I  suppose,'  continued  her  ladyship,  '  when  we 
shall  have  to  inform  your  parents  that  you  are  still 
living;  but  for  the  present  everything  shall  re- 
[71] 


From  n  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

main  as  it  is,  so  that  you  can  have  time  to  rest 
both  body  and  mind.  And  you  shall  call  me 
"  Aunt  "  ;   but  what  shall  I  call  you  ? ' 

'  Ingrid — Ingrid  Berg.' 

'  Ingrid,'  said  her  ladyship  thoughtfully.  '  I 
would  rather  have  called  you  something  else.  As 
soon  as  you  entered  the  room  with  those  star-like 
eyes,  I  thought  you  ought  to  be  called  Mignon.' 

When  it  dawned  upon  the  young  girl  that  here 
she  would  really  find  a  home,  she  felt  more  sure 
than  ever  that  she  had  been  brought  here  in  some 
supernatural  manner,  and  she  whispered  her 
thanks  to  her  invisible  protector  before  she 
thanked  her  ladyship,  Miss  Stafva,  and  Anna 
Stina. 

Ingrid  slept  in  a  four-poster,  on  luxurious 
featherbeds  three  feet  high,  and  had  hem-stitched 
sheets,  and  silken  quilts  embroidered  with  Swed- 
ish crowns  and  French  lilies.  The  bed  was  so 
broad  that  she  could  lie  as  she  liked  either  way, 
and  so  high  that  she  must  mount  two  steps  to  get 
into  it.  At  the  top  sat  a  Cupid  holding  the 
brightly-coloured  hangings,  and  on  the  posts  sat 
other  Cupids,  which  held  them  up  in  festoons. 

In  the  same  room  where  the  bed  stood  was  an 
old  curved  chest  of  drawers  inlaid  with  olive- 
wood,  and  from  it  Ingrid  might  take  as  much 
sweetly-scented  linen  as  she  liked.  There  was 
also  a  wardrobe  containing  many  gay  and  pretty 
silk  and  muslin  gowns  that  only  hung  there  and 
waited  until  it  pleased  her  to  put  them  on. 

When  she  awoke  in  the  morning  there  stood  by 
her  bedside  a  tray  with  a  silver  coflfee-set  and 
[72] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

old  Indian  china.  And  every  morning  she 
set  her  small  white  teeth  in  fine  white  bread  and 
delicious  almond-cakes ;  every  day  she  was 
dressed  in  a  fine  muslin  gown  with  a  lace  fichu. 
Her  hair  was  dressed  high  at  the  back,  but  round 
her  forehead  there  was  a  row  of  little  light  curls. 

On  the  wall  between  the  windows  hung  a  mir- 
ror, with  a  narrow  glass  in  a  broad  frame,  where 
she  could  see  herself,  and  nod  to  her  picture,  and 
ask: 

'  Is  it  you  ?  Is  it  really  you  ?  How  have  you 
come  here?  ' 

In  the  daytime,  when  Ingrid  had  left  the  cham- 
ber with  the  four-poster,  she  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room  and  embroidered  or  painted  on  silk,  and 
when  she  was  tired  of  that,  she  played  a  little  on 
the  guitar  and  sang,  or  talked  with  the  old  lady, 
who  taught  her  French,  and  amused  herself  by 
training  her  to  be  a  fine  lady. 

But  she  had  come  to  an  enchanted  castle — she 
could  not  get  away  from  that  idea.  She  had 
had  that  feeling  the  first  moment,  and  it  was 
always  coming  back  again.  No  one  arrived  at 
the  house,  no  one  left  it.  In  this  big  house  only 
two  or  three  rooms  were  kept  in  order;  in  the 
others  no  one  ever  went.  No  one  walked  in  the 
garden,  no  one  looked  after  it.  There  was  only 
one  man-servant,  and  an  old  man  who  cut  the  fire- 
wood. And  Miss  Stafva  had  only  two  servants, 
who  helped  her  in  the  kitchen  and  in  the  dairy. 

But  there  was  always  dainty  food  on  the 
table,  and  her  ladyship  and  Ingrid  were  always 
waited  upon  and  dressed  like  fine  ladies  of  rank. 

If  nothing  thrived  on  the  old  estate,  there  was, 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

at  any  rate,  fertile  soil  for  dreams,  and  even  if 
they  did  not  nurse  and  cultivate  flowers  there,  In- 
grid  was  not  the  one  to  neglect  her  dream-roses. 
They  grew  up  around  her  whenever  she  was 
alone.  It  seemed  to  her  then  as  if  red  dream-roses 
formed  a  canopy  over  her. 

Round  the  island  where  the  trees  bent  low  over 
the  water,  and  sent  long  branches  in  between  the 
reeds,  and  where  shrubs  and  lofty  trees  grew  lux- 
uriantly, was  a  pathway  where  Ingrid  often 
walked.  It  looked  so  strange  to  see  so  many  let- 
ters carved  on  the  trees,  to  see  the  old  seats  and 
summer-houses ;  to  see  the  old  tumble-down  pa- 
vilions, which  were  so  worm-eaten  that  she  dared 
not  go  into  them ;  to  think  that  real  people  had 
walked  here,  that  here  they  had  lived,  and  longed, 
and  loved,  and  that  this  had  not  always  been  an 
enchanted  castle. 

Down  here  she  felt  even  more  the  witchery  of 
the  place.  Here  the  face  with  the  smile  came  to 
her.  Here  she  could  thank  him,  the  student,  be- 
cause he  had  brought  her  to  a  home  where  she 
was  so  happy,  where  they  loved  her,  and  made 
her  forget  how  hardly  others  had  treated  her. 
If  it  had  not  been  he  who  had  arranged  all  this 
for  her,  she  could  not  possibly  have  been  allowed 
to  remain  here  ;  it  was  quite  impossible. 

She  knew  that  it  must  be  he.  She  had  never 
before  had  such  wild  fancies.  She  had  always 
been  thinking  of  him,  but  she  had  never  felt  that 
he  was  so  near  her  that  he  took  care  of  her.  The 
only  thing  she  longed  for  was  that  he  himself 
should  come,  for  of  course  he  would  come  some 
day.  It  was  impossible  that  he  should  not  come. 
[74] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

In  these  avenues  he  had  left  behind  part  of  his 
soul. 

Summer  went,  and  autumn ;  Christmas  was 
drawing  near. 

'  Miss  Ingrid,'  said  the  old  housekeeper  one 
day,  in  a  rather  mysterious  manner,  '  I  think  I 
ought  to  tell  you  that  the  young  master  who  owns 
Munkhyttan  is  coming  home  for  Christmas.  In 
any  case,  he  generally  comes,'  she  added,  with  a 
sigh. 

'  And  her  ladyship,  who  has  never  even  men- 
tioned that  she  has  a  son,'  said  Ingrid. 

But  she  was  not  really  surprised.  She  might 
just  as  well  have  answered  that  she  had  known 
it  all  along. 

'  No  one  has  spoken  to  you  about  him.  Miss 
Ingrid,'  said  the  housekeeper,  '  for  her  ladyship 
has  forbidden  us  to  speak  about  him.' 

And  then  Miss  Stafva  would  not  say  any 
more. 

Neither  did  Ingrid  want  to  ask  any  more.  Now 
she  was  afraid  of  hearing  something  definite. 
She  had  raised  her  expectations  so  high  that  she 
was  herself  afraid  they  would  fail.  The  truth 
might  be  well  worth  hearing,  but  it  might  also 
be  bitter,  and  destroy  all  her  beautiful  dreams. 
But  from  that  day  he  was  with  her  night  and  day. 
She  had  hardly  time  to  speak  to  others.  She 
must  always  be  with  him. 

One  day  she  saw  that  they  had  cleared  the 
snow  away  from  the  avenue.  She  grew  almost 
frightened.     Was  he  coming  now? 

The  next  day  her  ladyship  sat  from  early  morn- 
[75] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

ing  in  the  window  looking  down  the  avenue.  In- 
grid  had  gone  further  into  the  room.  She  was 
so  restless  that  she  could  not  remain  at  the  win- 
dow. 

*  Do  you  know  whom  I  am  expecting  to-day, 
Ingrid  ?  ' 

The  young  girl  nodded  ;  she  dared  not  depend 
upon  her  voice  to  answer. 

'  Has  Miss  Stafva  told  you  that  my  son  is  pe- 
culiar? ' 

Ingrid  shook  her  head. 

'  He  is  very  peculiar — he — I  cannot  speak 
about  it.    I  cannot — you  must  see  for  yourself.' 

It  sounded  heartrending.  Ingrid  grew  very 
uneasy.  What  was  there  with  this  house  that 
made  everything  so  strange  ?  Was  it  something 
terrible  that  she  did  not  know  about?  Was  her 
ladyship  not  on  good  terms  with  her  son  ?  What 
was  it,  what  was  it? 

The  one  moment  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  the  next 
in  a  fever  of  uncertainty,  she  was  obliged  to  call 
forth  the  long  row  of  visions  in  order  again  to 
feel  that  it  must  be  he  who  came.  She  could  not 
at  all  say  why  she  so  firmly  believed  that  he  must 
be  the  son  just  of  this  house.  He  might,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  be  quite  another  person.  Oh, 
how  hard  it  was  that  she  had  never  heard  his 
name ! 

It  was  a  long  day.  They  sat  waiting  in  silence 
until  evening  came. 

The  man  came  driving  a  cartload  of  Christ- 
mas logs,  and  the  horse  remained  in  the  yard 
whilst  the  wood  was  unloaded. 

'  Ingrid,'  said  her  ladyship  in  a  commanding 
[76] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

and  hasty  tone, '  run  down  to  Anders  and  tell  him 
that  he  must  be  quick  and  get  the  horse  into  the 
stable.     Quick — quick  !  ' 

Ingrid  ran  down  the  stairs  and  on  to  the  ve- 
randa ;  but  when  she  came  out  she  forgot  to  call 
to  the  man.  Just  behind  the  cart  she  saw  a  tall 
man  in  a  sheepskin  coat,  and  with  a  large  pack 
on  his  back.  It  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  see 
him  standing  curtsying  and  curtsying  to  recog- 
nise him.     But,  but She  put  her  hand  to  her 

head  and  drew  a  deep  breath.  How  would  all 
these  things  ever  become  clear  to  her?  Was  it 
for  that  fellow's  sake  her  ladyship  had  sent  her 
down  ?  And  the  man,  why  did  he  pull  the  horse 
away  in  such  great  haste  ?  And  why  did  he  take 
ofif  his  cap  and  salute  ?  What  had  that  crazy  man 
to  do  with  the  people  of  this  house  ? 

All  at  once  the  truth  flashed  upon  Ingrid  so 
crushingly  and  overwhelmingly  that  she  could 
have  screamed.  It  was  not  her  beloved  who  had 
watched  over  her ;  it  was  this  crazy  man.  She 
had  been  allowed  to  remain  here  because  she  had 
spoken  kindly  of  him,  because  his  mother  wanted 
to  carry  on  the  good  work  which  he  had  com- 
menced. 

The  Goat — that  was  the  young  master. 

But  to  her  no  one  came.  No  one  had  brought 
her  here ;  no  one  had  expected  her.  It  was  all 
dreams,  fancies,  illusions  !  Oh,  how  hard  it  was  ! 
If  she  had  only  never  expected  him  ! 

But  at  night,  when  Ingrid  lay  in  the  big  bed 

with  the  brightly-coloured  hangings,  she  dreamt 

over  and  over  again  that  she  saw  the  student 

come  home.     '  It  was  not  you  who  came,'  she 

\7T\ 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

said.    '  Yes,  of  course  it  was  I,'  he  replied.    And 
in  her  dreams  she  beHeved  him. 

One  day,  the  week  after  Christmas,  Ingrid  sat 
at  the  window  in  the  boudoir  embroidering.  Her 
ladyship  sat  on  the  sofa  knitting,  as  she  always 
did  now.     There  was  silence  in  the  room. 

Young  Hede  had  been  at  home  for  a  week. 
During  all  that  time  Ingrid  had  never  seen  him. 
In  his  home,  too,  he  lived  like  a  peasant,  slept  in 
the  men-servants'  quarters,  and  had  his  meals  in 
the  kitchen.     He  never  went  to  see  his  mother. 

Ingrid  knew  that  both  her  ladyship  and  Miss 
Stafva  expected  that  she  should  do  something 
for  Hede,  that  at  the  least  she  would  try  and  per- 
suade him  to  remain  at  home.  And  it  grieved  her 
that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  do  what  they 
wished.  She  was  in  despair  about  herself  and 
about  the  utter  weakness  that  had  come  over  her 
since  her  expectations  had  been  so  shattered. 

To-day  Miss  Stafva  had  just  come  in  to  say 
that  Hede  was  getting  his  pack  ready  to  start. 
He  was  not  even  staying  as  long  as  he  generally 
did  at  Christmas,  she  said  with  a  reproachful  look 
at  Ingrid. 

Ingrid  understood  all  they  had  expected  from 
her,  but  she  could  do  nothing.  She  sewed  and 
sewed  without  saying  anything. 

Miss  Stafva  went  away,  and  there  was  again 
silence  in  the  room.  Ingrid  quite  forgot  that  she 
was  not  alone ;  a  feeling  of  drowsiness  suddenly 
came  over  her,  whilst  all  her  sad  thoughts  wove 
themselves  into  a  strange  fancy. 

She  thought  she  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
[78] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

whole  of  the  large  house.  She  went  through  a 
number  of  rooms  and  salons ;  she  saw  them  be- 
fore her  with  gray  covers  over  the  furniture.  The 
paintings  and  the  chandeliers  were  covered  with 
gauze,  and  on  the  floors  was  a  layer  of  thick  dust, 
which  whirled  about  when  she  went  through  the 
rooms.  But  at  last  she  came  to  a  room  where  she 
had  never  been  before  ;  it  was  quite  a  small  cham- 
ber, where  both  walls  and  ceiling  were  black. 
But  when  she  came  to  look  more  closely  at  them, 
she  saw  that  the  chamber  was  neither  painted 
black,  nor  covered  with  black  material,  but  it  was 
so  dark  on  account  of  the  walls  and  the  ceiling  be- 
ingcompletely  covered  with  bats.  The  whole  room 
was  nothing  but  a  huge  nest  for  bats.  In  one  of 
the  windows  a  pane  was  broken,  so  one  could 
understand  how  the  bats  had  got  in  in  such  in- 
credible numbers  that  they  covered  the  whole 
room.  They  hung  there  in  their  undisturbed 
winter  sleep ;  not  one  moved  when  she  entered. 
But  she  was  seized  by  such  terror  at  this  sight 
that  she  began  to  shiver  and  shake  all  over.  It 
was  dreadful  to  see  the  quantity  of  bats  she  so  dis- 
tinctly saw  hanging  there.  They  all  had  black 
wings  wrapped  around  them  like  cloaks  ;  they  all 
hung  from  the  walls  by  a  single  long  claw  in  un- 
disturbable  sleep.  She  saw  it  all  so  distinctly  that 
she  wondered  if  Miss  Stafva  knew  that  the  bats 
had  taken  possession  of  a  whole  room.  In  her 
thoughts  she  then  went  to  Miss  Stafva  and  asked 
her  whether  she  had  been  into  that  room  and  seen 
all  the  bats. 

*  Of  course  I  have  seen  them,'  said  Miss  Stafva. 
'  It  is  their  own  room.    I  suppose  you  know.  Miss 

[79] 


Trom  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Ingrid,  that  there  is  not  a  single  old  country 
house  in  all  Sweden  where  they  have  not  to  give 
up  a  room  to  the  bats  ? ' 

'  I  have  never  heard  that  before,'  Ingrid  said. 

'  When  you  have  lived  as  long  in  the  world  as  I 
have,  Miss  Ingrid,  you  will  find  out  that  I  am 
speaking  the  truth,'  said  Miss  Stafva. 

'  I  cannot  understand  that  people  will  put  up 
with  such  a  thing,'  Ingrid  said. 

'  We  are  obliged  to,'  said  Miss  Stafva.  *  Those 
bats  are  Mistress  Sorrow's  birds,  and  she  has 
commanded  us  to  receive  them.' 

Ingrid  saw  that  Miss  Stafva  did  not  wish  to 
say  anything  more  about  that  matter,  and  she  be- 
gan to  sew  again  ;  but  she  could  not  help  specu- 
lating over  who  that  Mistress  Sorrow  could  be 
who  had  so  much  power  here  that  she  could  com- 
pel Miss  Stafva  to  give  up  a  whole  room  to  the 
bats. 

Just  as  she  was  thinking  about  all  this,  she  saw 
a  black  sledge,  drawn  by  black  horses,  pull  up 
outside  the  veranda.  She  saw  Miss  Stafva  come 
out  and  make  a  low  curtsy.  An  old  lady  in  a 
long  black  velvet  cloak,  with  many  small  capes 
on  the  shoulders,  alighted  from  the  sledge.  She 
was  bent,  and  had  difficulty  in  walking.  She 
could  hardly  lift  her  feet  sufficiently  to  walk  up 
the  steps. 

'  Ingrid,'  said  her  ladyship,  looking  up  from 
her  knitting,  *  I  think  I  heard  Mistress  Sorrow 
arrive.  It  must  have  been  her  jingle  I  heard. 
Have  you  noticed  that  she  never  has  sledge-bells 
on  her  horses,  but  only  quite  a  small  jingle  ?  But 
one  can  hear  it — one  can  hear  it !  Go  down  into 
[80] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

the  hall,  Ingrid,  and  bid  Mistress  Sorrow  wel- 
come.' 

When  Ingrid  came  down  into  the  front  hall, 
Mistress  Sorrow  stood  talking  with  Miss  Stafva 
on  the  veranda.    They  did  not  notice  her. 

Ingrid  saw  with  surprise  that  the  round-backed 
old  lady  had  something  hidden  under  all  her 
capes  which  looked  like  crape ;  it  was  put  well 
up  and  carefully  hidden.  Ingrid  had  to  look  very 
closely  before  she  discovered  that  they  were  two 
large  bat's  wings  which  she  tried  to  hide.  The 
young  girl  grew  still  more  curious  and  tried  to 
see  her  face,  but  she  stood  and  look,ed  into  the 
yard,  so  it  was  impossible.  So  much,  however, 
Ingrid  did  see  when  she  put  out  her  hand  to  the 
housekeeper — that  one  of  her  fingers  was  much 
longer  than  the  others,  and  at  the  end  of  it  was  a 
large,  crooked  claw. 

'  I  suppose  everything  is  as  usual  here  ?  '  she 
said. 

'  Yes,  honoured  Mistress  Sorrow,'  said  Miss 
Stafva. 

'  You  have  not  planted  any  flowers,  nor  pruned 
any  trees?  You  have  not  mended  the  bridge, 
nor  weeded  the  avenue  ?  ' 

'•No,  honoured  mistress.' 

'  This  is  quite  as  it  should  be,'  said  the  hon- 
oured mistress.  *  I  suppose  you  have  not  had  the 
audacity  to  search  for  the  vein  of  ore,  or  to  cut 
down  the  forest  which  is  encroaching  on  the 
fields?' 

'  No,  honoured  mistress.' 

'  Or  to  clean  the  wells  ?  ' 

*  No,  nor  to  clean  the  wells.' 
[8i] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

*  This  is  a  nice  place,'  said  Mistress  Sorrow ; 
*  I  always  like  being  here.  In  a  few  years  things 
will  be  in  such  a  state  that  my  birds  can  live  all 
over  the  house.  You  are  really  very  good  to  my 
birds,  Miss  Stafva.' 

At  this  praise  the  housekeeper  made  a  deep 
curtsy. 

'  How  are  things  otherwise  at  the  house  ?  '  said 
Mistress  Sorrow.  '  What  sort  of  a  Christmas 
have  you  had?' 

*  We  have  kept  Christmas  as  we  always  do,' 
said  Miss  Stafva.  '  Her  ladyship  sits  knitting  in 
her  room  day  after  day,  thinks  of  nothing  but  her 
son,  and  does  not  even  know  that  it  is  a  festival. 
Christmas  Eve  we  allowed  to  pass  like  any  other 
day — no  presents  and  no  candles.' 

'  No  Christmas  tree,  no  Christmas  fare  ?  ' 
'  Nor  any  going  to  church ;   not  so  much  as  a 
candle  in  the  windows  on  Christmas  morning.' 

*  Why  should  her  ladyship  honour  God's  Son 
when  God  will  not  heal  her  son  ? '  said  Mistress 
Sorrow. 

*  No,  why  should  she?' 

*  He  is  at  home  at  present,  I  suppose  ?  Perhaps 
he  is  better  now? ' 

'  No,  he  is  no  better.  He  is  as  much  afraid 
of  things  as  ever.' 

'  Does  he  still  behave  Hke  a  peasant?  Does 
he  never  go  into  the  rooms  ?  ' 

'We  cannot  get  him  to  go  into  the  rooms; 
he  is  afraid  of  her  ladyship,  as  the  honoured  mis- 
tress knows.' 

'  He  has  his  meals  in  the  kitchen,  and  sleeps 
in  the  men-servants'  room  ? ' 
[82] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

'  Yes,  he  does.' 

'  And  you  have  no  idea  how  to  cure  him? ' 

*  We  know  nothing,  we  understand  nothing.' 
Mistress   Sorrow   was   silent   for   a   moment ; 

when  she  spoke  again  there  was  a  hard,  sharp 
ring  in  her  voice  : 

*  This  is  all  right  as  far  as  it  goes,  Miss  Stafva ; 
but  I  am  not  quite  satisfied  with  you,  all  the 
same.' 

The  same  moment  she  turned  round  and 
looked  sharply  at  Ingrid. 

Ingrid  shuddered.  Mistress  Sorrow  had  a  lit- 
tle, wrinkled  face,  the  under  part  of  which  was 
so  doubled  up  that  one  could  hardly  see  the 
lower  jaw.  She  had  teeth  like  a  saw,  and  thick 
hair  on  the  upper  lip.  Her  eyebrows  were  one 
single  tuft  of  hair,  and  her  skin  was  quite 
brown. 

Ingrid  thought  Miss  Stafva  could  not  see  what 
she  saw :  Mistress  Sorrow  was  not  a  human 
being;   she  was  only  an  animal. 

Mistress  Sorrow  opened  her  mouth  and 
showed  her  glittering  teeth  when  she  looked  at 
Ingrid. 

'  When  this  girl  came  here,'  she  said  to  Miss 
Stafva,  '  you  thought  she  had  been  sent  by  God. 
You  thought  you  could  see  from  her  eyes  that 
she  had  been  sent  by  Our  Lord  to  save  him. 
She  knew  how  to  manage  mad  people.  Well, 
how  has  it  worked  ?  ' 

'  It  has  not  worked  at  all.  She  has  not  done 
anything.' 

*  No,  I  have  seen  to  that,'  said  Mistress  Sor- 
row.   '  It  was  my  doing  that  you  did  not  tell  her 

[83] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

why  she  was  allowed  to  stay  here.  Had  she 
known  that,  she  would  not  have  indulged  in 
such  rosy  dreams  about  seeing-  her  beloved.  If 
she  had  not  had  such  expectations,  she  would 
not  have  had  such  a  bitter  disappointment.  Had 
disappointment  not  paralyzed  her,  she  could  per- 
haps have  done  something  for  this  mad  fellow. 
But  now  she  has  not  even  been  to  see  him.  She 
hates  him  because  he  is  not  the  one  she  expected 
him  to  be.  That  is  my  doing.  Miss  Stafva,  my 
doing.' 

'  Yes ;  the  honoured  mistress  knows  her  busi- 
ness,' said  Miss  Stafva. 

Mistress  Sorrow  took  her  lace  handkerchief 
and  dried  her  red-rimmed  eyes.  It  looked  as  if 
it  were  meant  for  an  expression  of  joy. 

*  You  need  not  make  yourself  out  to  be  any 
better  than  you  are,  Miss  Stafva,'  she  said.  '  I 
know  you  do  not  like  my  having  taken  that  room 
for  my  birds.  You  do  not  like  the  thought  of 
my  having  the  whole  house  soon.  I  know  that. 
You  and  your  mistress  had  intended  to  cheat 
me.     But  it  is  all  over  now.' 

*  Yes,'  said  Miss  Stafva,  '  the  honoured  mis- 
tress can  be  quite  easy.  It  is  all  over.  The 
young  master  is  leaving  to-day.  He  has  packed 
up  his  pack,  and  then  we  always  know  he  is 
about  to  leave.  Everything  her  ladyship  and  I 
have  been  dreaming  about  the  whole  autumn  is 
over.  Nothing  has  been  done.  We  thought  she 
might  at  least  have  persuaded  him  to  remain  at 
home,  but  in  spite  of  all  we  have  done  for  her, 
she  has  not  done  anything  for  us.' 

*  No,  she  has  only  been  a  poor  help,  I  know 

[84] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

that,'  said  Mistress  Sorrow.  *  But,  all  the  same, 
she  must  be  sent  away  now.  That  was  really 
what  I  wanted  to  see  her  ladyship  about.' 

Mistress  Sorrow  began  to  drag  herself  up  the 
steps  on  her  tottering  legs.  At  every  step  she 
raised  her  wings  a  little,  as  if  they  should  help 
her.  She  would,  no  doubt,  much  rather  have 
flown. 

Ingrid  went  behind  her.  She  felt  strangely 
attracted  and  fascinated.  If  Mistress  Sorrow 
had  been  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world, 
she  could  not  have  felt  a  greater  inclination  to 
follow  her. 

When  she  went  into  the  boudoir  she  saw  Mis- 
tress Sorrow  sitting  on  the  sofa  by  the  side  of 
her  ladyship,  whispering  confidentially  with  her, 
as  if  they  were  old  friends. 

'  You  must  be  able  to  see  that  you  cannot 
keep  her  with  you,'  said  Mistress  Sorrow  im- 
pressively. '  You,  who  cannot  bear  to  see  a 
flower  growing  in  your  garden,  can  surely  not 
stand  having  a  young  girl  about  in  the  house. 
It  always  brings  a  certain  amount  of  brightness 
and  life,  and  that  would  not  suit  you.' 

'  No ;  that  is  just  what  I  have  been  sitting  and 
thinking  about.' 

'  Get  her  a  situation  as  lady's  companion 
somewhere  or  other,  but  don't  keep  her  here.' 

She  rose  to  say  good-bye. 

'  That  was  all  I  wanted  to  see  you  about,'  she 
said.     '  But  how  are  you  yourself? ' 

'  Knives  and  scissors  cut  my  heart  all  day 
long,'  said  her  ladyship.  '  I  only  live  in  him  as 
long  as  he  is  at  home.  It  is  worse  than  usual, 
[85] 


From  a  SITE  DISH  HOMESTEAD 

much  worse  this  time.     I  cannot  bear  it  much 
longer.'     .     .     . 

Ingrid  started;  it  was  her  ladyship's  bell  that 
rang.  She  had  been  dreaming  so  vividly  that 
she  was  quite  surprised  to  see  that  her  ladyship 
was  alone,  and  that  the  black  sledge  was  not 
waiting  before  the  door. 

Her  ladyship  had  rung  for  Miss  Stafva,  but 
she  did  not  come.  She  asked  Ingrid  to  go  down 
to  her  room  and  call  her. 

Ingrid  went,  but  the  little  blue-checked  room 
was  empty.  The  young  girl  was  going  into  the 
kitchen  to  ask  for  the  housekeeper,  but  before 
she  had  time  to  open  the  door  she  heard  Hede 
talking.  She  stopped  outside ;  she  could  not 
persuade  herself  to  go  in  and  see  him. 

She  tried,  however,  to  argue  with  herself.  It 
was  not  his  fault  that  he  was  not  the  one  she  had 
been  expecting.  She  must  try  to  do  something 
for  him  ;  she  must  persuade  him  to  remain  at 
home.  Before,  she  had  not  had  such  a  feeling 
against  him.     He  was  not  so  very  bad. 

She  bent  down  and  peeped  through  the  key- 
hole. It  was  the  same  here  as  at  other  places. 
The  servants  tried  to  lead  him  on  in  order  to 
amuse  themselves  by  his  strange  talk.  They 
asked  him  whom  he  was  going  to  marry.  Hede 
smiled ;  he  liked  to  be  asked  about  that  kind  of 
thing. 

'  She  is  called  Grave-Lily — don't  you  know 
that  ?  '  he  said. 

The  servant  said  she  did  not  know  that  she 
had  such  a  fine  name. 

'  But  where  does  she  live  ?  ' 
[86] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

*  Neither  has  she  home  nor  has  she  farm/ 
Hede  said.     '  She  lives  in  my  pack.' 

The  servant  said  that  was  a  queer  home,  and 
asked  about  her  parents. 

'  Neither  has  she  father  nor  has  she  mother,' 
Hede  said.  *  She  is  as  fine  as  a  flower;  she  has 
grown  up  in  a  garden.' 

He  said  all  this  with  a  certain  amount  of  clear- 
ness, but  when  he  wanted  to  describe  how  beau- 
tiful his  sweetheart  was  he  could  not  get  on  at 
all.  He  said  a  number  of  words,  but  they  were 
strangely  mixed  together.  One  could  not  fol- 
low his  thoughts,  but  evidently  he  himself  de- 
rived much  pleasure  from  what  he  said.  He  sat 
smiling  and  happy. 

Ingrid  hurried  away.  She  could  not  bear  it 
any  longer.  She  could  not  do  anything  for  him. 
She  was  afraid  of  him.  She  disliked  him.  But 
she  had  not  got  further  than  the  stairs  before 
her  conscience  pricked  her.  Here  she  had  re- 
ceived so  much  kindness,  and  she  would  not 
make  any  return. 

In  order  to  master  her  dislike  she  tried  in  her 
own  mind  to  think  of  Hede  as  a  gentleman.  She 
wondered  how  he  had  looked  when  he  wore  good 
clothes,  and  had  his  hair  brushed  back.  She 
closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment  and  thought.  No, 
it  was  impossible,  she  could  not  imagine  him  as 
being  any  different  from  what  he  was.  The 
same  moment  she  saw  the  outlines  of  a  beloved 
face  by  her  side.  It  appeared  at  her  left  side 
wonderfullv  distinct.  This  time  the  face  did  not 
smile.  The  lips  trembled  as  if  in  pain,  and  un- 
speakable suflfering  was  written  in  sharp  line3 
round  the  mouth. 

[87] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Ingrid  stopped  half-way  up  the  stairs  and 
looked  at  it.  There  it  was,  light  and  fleeting,  as 
impossible  to  grasp  and  hold  fast  as  a  sun-spot 
reflected  by  the  prism  of  a  chandelier,  but  just 
as  visible,  just  as  real.  She  thought  of  her  recent 
dream,  but  this  was  different — this  was  reality. 

When  she  had  looked  a  little  at  the  face,  the 
lips  began  to  move ;  they  spoke,  but  she  could 
not  hear  a  sound.  Then  she  tried  to  see  what 
they  said,  tried  to-  read  the  words  from  the  lips, 
as  deaf  people  do,  and  she  succeeded. 

*  Do  not  let  me  go,'  the  lips  said;  '  do  not  let 
me  go.' 

And  the  anguish  with  which  it  was  said !  If  a 
fellow-creature  had  been  lying  at  her  feet  beg- 
ging for  life,  it  could  not  have  afifected  her  more. 
She  was  so  overcome  that  she  shook.  It  was 
more  heart-rending  than  anything  she  had  ever 
heard  in  her  whole  life.  Never  had  she  thought 
that  anyone  could  beg  in  such  fearful  anguish. 
Again  and  again  the  lips  begged,  *  Do  not  let 
me  go ! '  And  for  every  time  the  anguish  was 
greater. 

Ingrid  did  not  understand  it,  but  remained 
standmg,  filled  with  unspeakable  pity.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  more  than  life  itself  must  be  at  stake 
for  one  who  begged  like  this,  that  his  very  soul 
must  be  at  stake. 

The  lips  did  not  move  any  more ;  they  stood 
half  open  in  dull  despair.  When  they  assumed 
this  expression  she  uttered  a  cry  and  stumbled. 
She  recognised  the  face  of  the  crazy  fellow  as 
she  had  just  seen  it. 

*  No,  no,  no ! '  she  said.     '  It  cannot  be  so !    It 

[88] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

must  not !   it  cannot !     It  is  not  possible  that  it 
is  he!' 

The  same  moment  the  face  vanished.  She 
must  have  sat  for  a  whole  hour  on  the  cold  stair- 
case, crying  in  helpless  despair.  But  at  last  hope 
sprang  up  in  her,  strong  and  fair.  She  again 
took  courage  to  raise  her  head.  All  that  had 
happened  seemed  to  show  that  she  should  save 
him.  It  was  for  that  she  had  come  here.  She 
should  have  the  great,  great  happiness  of  saving 
him. 

In  the  little  boudoir  her  ladyship  was  talking 
to  Miss  Stafva.  It  sounded  so  pitiful  to  hear  her 
asking  the  housekeeper  to  persuade  her  son  to 
remain  a  few  days  longer.  Miss  Stafva  tried  to 
appear  hard  and  severe. 

'  Of  course,  I  can  ask  him,'  she  said ;  '  but 
your  ladyship  knows  that  no  one  can  make  him 
stay  longer  than  he  wants.' 

*  We  have  money  enough,  you  know.  There 
is  not  the  slightest  necessity  for  him  to  go.  Can 
you  not  tell  him  that?  '  said  her  ladyship. 

At  the  same  moment  Ingrid  came  in.  The 
door  opened  noiselessly.  She  glided  through 
the  room  with  light,  airy  steps ;  her  eyes  were  ra- 
diant, as  if  she  beheld  something  beautiful  afar  off. 

When  her  ladyship  saw  her  she  frowned  a 
little.  She  also  felt  an  inclination  to  be  cruel,  to 
give  pain. 

'  Ingrid,'  she  said,  '  come  here ;  I  must  speak 
with  you  about  your  future.' 

The  young  girl  had  fetched  her  guitar  and 
was  about  to  leave  the  room.  She  turned  round 
to  her  ladyship, 

[89I 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

*  My  future  ? '  she  said,  putting  her  hand  to  her 
forehead.  '  My  future  is  already  decided,  you 
know,'  she  continued,  with  the  smile  of  a  martyr; 
and  without  saying  any  more  she  left  the  room. 

Her  ladyship  and  Stafva  looked  in  surprise  at 
each  other.  They  began  to  discuss  where  they 
should  send  the  young  girl.  But  when  Miss 
Stafva  came  down  to  her  room  she  found  Ingrid 
sitting  there,  singing  some  little  songs  and  play- 
ing on  the  guitar,  and  Hede  sat  opposite  her, 
listening,  his  face  all  sunshine. 

Ever  since  Ingrid  had  recognised  the  student 
in  the  poor  crazy  fellow,  she  had  no  other 
thought  but  that  of  trying  to  cure  him  ;  but  this 
was  a  difficult  task,  and  she  had  no  idea  what- 
ever as  to  how  she  should  set  about  it.  To  begin 
with,  she  only  thought  of  how  she  could  per- 
suade him  to  remain  at  Munkhyttan ;  and  this 
was  easy  enough.  Only  for  the  sake  of  hearing 
her  play  the  violin  or  the  guitar  a  Httle  every  day 
he  would  now  sit  patiently  from  morning  till 
evening  in  Miss  Stafva's  room  waiting  for  her. 

She  thought  it  would  be  a  great  thing  if  she 
could  get  him  to  go  into  the  other  rooms,  but 
that  she  could  not.  She  tried  keeping  in  her 
room,  and  said  she  would  not  play  any  more  for 
him  if  he  did  not  come  to  her.  But  after  she 
had  remained  there  two  days,  he  began  to  pack 
up  his  pack  to  go  away,  and  then  she  was  obliged 
to  give  in. 

He  showed  great  preference  for  her,  and  dis- 
tinctly showed  that  he  liked  her  better  than 
others ;  but  she  did  not  make  him  less  fright- 
ened. She  begged  him  to  leave  ofif  his  sheep- 
[90] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

skin  coat,  and  wear  an  ordinary  coat.  He  con- 
sented at  once,  but  the  next  day  he  had  it  on 
again.  Then  she  hid  it  from  him ;  but  he  then 
appeared  in  the  man-servant's  skin  coat.  So 
then  they  would  rather  let  him  keep  his  own. 
He  was  still  as  frightened  as  ever,  and  took  great 
care  no  one  came  too  near  him.  Even  Ingrid 
was  not  allowed  to  sit  quite  close  to  him. 

One  day  she  said  to  him  that  now  he  must 
promise  her  something:  he  must  give  over  curt- 
sying to  the  cat.  She  would  not  ask  him  to  do 
anything  so  dif^cult  as  give  up  curtsying  to 
horses  and  dogs,  but  surely  he  could  not  be 
afraid  of  a  little  cat. 

Yes,  he  said  ;  the  cat  was  a  goat. 

'  It  can't  be  a  goat,'  she  said ;  '  it  has  no  horns, 
you  know.' 

He  was  pleased  to  hear  that.  It  seemed  as  if 
at  last  he  had  found  something  by  which  he  could 
distinguish  a  goat  from  other  animals. 

The  next  day  he  met  Miss  Stafva's  cat. 

'  That  goat  has  no  horns,'  he  said  ;  and  laughed 
quite  proudly. 

He  went  past  it,  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa  to 
listen  to  Ingrid  playing.  But  after  he  had  sat  a 
little  while  he  grew  restless,  and  he  rose,  went 
up  to  the  cat,  and  curtsied. 

Ingrid  was  in  despair.  She  took  him  by  his 
arm  and  shook  him.  He  ran  straight  out  of  the 
room,  and  did  not  appear  until  the  next  day. 

*  Child,  child,'  said  her  ladyship,  '  you  do  ex- 
actly as  I  did  ;  you  try  the  same  as  I  did.  It  will 
end  by  your  frightening  him  so  that  he  dare  not 
see  vou  any  more.     It  is  better  to  leave  him  in 

[91] 


From  a   SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

peace.  We  are  satisfied  with  things  as  they  are 
if  he  will  only  remain  at  home.' 

There  was  nothing  else  for  Ingrid  to  do  but 
wring  her  hands  in  sorrow  that  such  a  fine, 
lovable  fellow  should  be  concealed  in  this  crazy 
man. 

Ingrid  thought  again  and  again,  had  she 
really  only  come  here  to  play  her  grandfather's 
tunes  to  him?  Should  they  go  on  like  that  all 
through  life?    Would  it  never  be  otherwise? 

She  also  told  him  many  stories,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  story  his  face  would  lighten  up,  and 
he  would  say  something  wonderfully  subtle  and 
beautiful.  A  sane  person  would  never  have 
thought  of  anything  like  it.  And  no  more  was 
needed  to  make  her  courage  rise,  and  then  she 
began  again  with  these  endless  experiments. 

It  was  late  one  afternoon,  and  the  moon  was 
just  about  to  rise.  White  snow  lay  on  the 
ground,  and  bright  gray  ice  covered  the  lake. 
The  trees  were  blackish-brown,  and  the  sky  was 
a  flaming  red  after  the  sunset. 

Ingrid  was  on  her  way  to  the  lake  to  skate. 
She  went  along  a  narrow  path  where  the  snow 
was  quite  trodden  down.  Gunnar  Hede  went 
behind  her.  There  was  something  cowed  in  his 
bearing  that  made  one  think  of  a  dog  following 
its  master. 

Ingrid  looked  tired ;  there  was  no  brightness 
in  her  eyes,  and  her  complexion  was  gray. 

As  she  walked  along  she  wondered  whether 
the  day,  which  was  now  so  nearly  over,  was 
content  with  itself — if  it  were  from  joy  it  had 
[92] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

lighted  the  great  flaming  red  sunset  far  away  in 
the  west. 

She  knew  she  could  light  no  bonfire  over  this 
day,  nor  over  any  other  day.  In  the  whole 
month  that  had  passed  since  she  recognised  Gun- 
nar  Hede  she  had  gained  nothing. 

And  to-day  a  great  fear  had  come  upon  her. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  might  perhaps  lose 
her  love  over  all  this.  She  was  nearly  forgetting 
the  student,  only  for  thinking  of  the  poor  fellow. 
All  that  was  bright  and  beautiful  and  youthful 
vanished  from  her  love.  Nothing  was  left  but 
dull,  heavy  earnest. 

She  was  quite  in  despair  as  she  walked  towards 
the  lake.  She  felt  she  did  not  know  what  ought 
to  be  done — felt  that  she  must  give  it  all  up. 
Oh,  God,  to  have  him  walking  behind  her  ap- 
parently strong  and  hale,  and  yet  so  helplessly, 
incurably  sick ! 

They  had  reached  the  lake,  and  she  was  put- 
ting on  her  skates.  She  also  wanted  him  to 
skate,  and  helped  him  to  put  on  his  skates ;  but 
he  fell  as  soon  as  he  got  on  to  the  ice.  He 
scrambled  to  the  bank  and  sat  down  on  a  stone, 
and  she  skated  away  from  him. 

Just  opposite  the  stone  upon  which  Gunnar 
Hede  was  sitting  w-as  an  islet  overgrown  with 
birches  and  poplars,  and  behind  it  the  radiant 
evening  sky,  which  was  still  flaming  red.  And 
the  fine,  light,  leafless  tops  of  the  trees  stood 
against  the  glorious  sky  with  such  beauty  that  it 
was  impossible  not  to  notice  it. 

Is  it  not  a  fact  that  one  always  recognises  a 
place  by  a  single  feature  ?  One  does  not  exactly 
193] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

know  how  even  the  most  familiar  spot  looks  from 
all  sides.  And  Munkhyttan  one  always  knew 
by  the  Httle  islet.  If  one  had  not  seen  the  place 
for  many  years,  one  would  know  it  again  by  this 
islet,  where  the  dark  tree-tops  were  lifted  towards 
the  sunset. 

Hede  sat  quite  still,  and  looked  at  the  islet  and 
at  the  branches  of  the  trees  and  at  the  gray  ice 
which  surrounded  it. 

This  was  the  view  he  knew  best  of  all ;  there 
was  nothing  on  the  whole  estate  he  knew  so  well, 
for  it  was  always  this  islet  that  attracted  the  eye. 
And  soon  he  was  sitting  looking  at  the  islet 
without  thinking  about  it,  just  as  one  does  with 
things  one  knows  so  well.  He  sat  for  a  long 
time  gazing.  Nothing  disturbed  him,  not  a 
human  being,  not  a  gust  of  wind,  no  strange  ob- 
ject. He  could  not  see  Ingrid;  she  had  skated 
far  away  on  the  ice. 

A  rest  and  peace  fell  upon  Gunnar  Hede  such 
as  one  only  feels  in  home  surroundings.  Security 
and  peace  came  to  him  from  the  little  islet ;  it 
quieted  the  everlasting  unrest  that  tormened 
him. 

Hede  always  imagined  he  was  amongst 
enemies,  and  always  thought  of  defending  him- 
self. For  many  years  he  had  not  felt  that  peace 
which  made  it  possible  for  him  to  forget  himself. 
But  now  it  came  upon  him. 

Whilst  Gunnar  Hede  was  sitting  thus  and  not 
thinking  of  anything,  he  happened  mechanically 
to  make  a  movement  as  one  may  do  when  one 
finds  one's  self  in  accustomed  circumstances.  As 
he  sat  there  with  the  shining  ice  before  him  and 
I  94] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

with  skates  on  his  feet,  he  got  up  and  skated  on 
to  the  lake,  and  he  thought  as  little  of  what  he 
was  doing  as  one  thinks  of  how  one  is  holding 
fork  or  spoon  when  eating. 

He  glided  over  the  ice ;  it  was  glorious  skating. 
He  was  a  long  way  off  the  shore  before  he  real- 
ized what  he  was  doing. 

*  Splendid  ice !  '  he  thought.  '  I  wonder  why  I 
did  not  come  down  earlier  in  the  day.  It  is  a 
good  thing  I  was  more  here  yesterday,'  he  said. 
*  I  will  really  not  waste  a  single  day  during  the 
rest  of  my  vacation.' 

No  doubt  it  was  because  Gunnar  Hede  hap- 
pened to  do  something  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
doing  before  he  was  ill  that  his  old  self  awakened 
within  him. 

Thoughts  and  associations  connected  with  his 
former  life  began  to  force  themselves  upon  his 
consciousness,  and  at  the  same  time  ail  the 
thoughts  connected  with  his  illness  sank  into  ob- 
livion. 

It  had  been  his  habit  when  skating  to  take  a 
wide  turn  on  the  lake  in  order  to  see  beyond  a 
certain  point.  He  did  so  now  without  thinking, 
but  when  he  had  turned  the  point  he  knew  he 
had  skated  there  to  see  if  there  was  a  light  in 
his  mother's  window. 

'  She  thinks  it  is  time  I  was  coming  home,  but 
she  must  wait  a  little ;  the  ice  is  too  good.' 

But  it  was  mostly  vague  sensations  of  pleasure 
over  the  exercise  and  the  beautiful  evening  that 
were  awakened  within  him.  A  moonlight  even- 
ing like  this  was  just  the  time  for  skating;  he 
was  so  fond  of  this  peaceful  transition  from  day 
[95] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

to  night.  It  was  still  light,  but  the  stillness  of 
nig-ht  was  already  there,  the  best  both  of  day  and 
of  night. 

There  was  another  skater  on  the  ice ;  it  was  a 
young  girl.  He  was  not  sure  if  he  knew  her,  but 
he  skated  towards  her  to  find  out.  No ;  it  was 
no  one  he  knew,  but  he  could  not  help  making  a 
remark  when  he  passed  her  about  the  splendid 
ice. 

The  stranger  was  probably  a  young  girl  from 
the  town.  She  was  evidently  not  accustomed  to 
be  addressed  in  this  unceremonious  manner ;  she 
looked  quite  frightened  when  he  spoke  to  her. 
He  certainly  was  queerly  dressed;  he  was 
dressed  quite  like  a  peasant. 

Well,  he  did  not  want  to  frighten  her  away. 
He  turned  ofT  and  skated  further  up  the  lake ;  the 
ice  was  big  enough  for  them  both. 

But  Ingrid  had  nearly  screamed  with  astonish- 
ment. He  had  come  towards  her  skating  ele- 
gantly, with  his  arms  crossed,  the  brim  of  his 
hat  turned  up,  and  his  hair  thrown  back,  so  that 
it  did  not  fall  over  his  ears. 

He  had  spoken  with  the  voice  of  a  gentleman, 
almost  without  the  slightest  Dalar  accent.  She 
did  not  stop  to  think  about  it.  She  skated  quickly 
towards  the  shore.  She  came  breathless  into  the 
kitchen.  She  did  not  know  how  to  say  it  shortly 
and  quickly  enough. 

'  Miss  Stafva,  the  young  master  has  come 
home ! ' 

The  kitchen  was  empty;  neither  the  house- 
keeper nor  the  servants  were  there.  Nor  was 
there  anybody  in  the  housekeeper's  room.  In- 
[96] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

grid  rushed  through  the  whole  house,  went  into 
rooms  where  no  one  ever  went.  The  whole 
time  she  cried  out,  'Miss  Stafva,  Miss  Stafva! 
the  young  master  has  come  home !  ' 

She  was  quite  beside  herself,  and  went  on  call- 
ing out,  even  when  she  stood  on  the  landing  up- 
stairs, surrounded  by  the  servants.  Miss  Stafva, 
and  her  ladyship  herself.  She  said  it  over  and 
over  again.  She  v^'as  too  much  excited  to  stop. 
They  all  understood  what  she  meant.  They 
stood  there  quite  as  much  overcome  as  she  was. 

Ingrid  turned  restlessly  from  the  one  to  the 
other.  She  ought  to  give  explanations  and 
orders,  but  about  what?  That  she  could  so  lose 
her  presence  of  mind !  She  looked  wildly  ques- 
tioning at  her  ladyship. 

'  What  was  it  I  wanted  ?  ' 

The  old  lady  gave  some  orders  in  a  low, 
trembling  voice.     She  almost  whispered. 

'  Light  the  candles  and  make  a  fire  in  the 
young  master's  room.  Lay  out  the  young  mas- 
ter's clothes.' 

It  was  neither  the  place  nor  the  time  for  Miss 
Stafva  to  be  important.  But  there  was  all  the 
same  a  certain  superior  ring  in  her  voice  as  she 
answered : 

'  There  is  always  a  fire  in  the  young  master's 
room.  The  young  master's  clothes  are  always  in 
readiness  for  him.' 

'  Ingrid  had  better  go  up  to  her  room,'  said  her 
ladyship. 

The  young  girl  did  just  the  opposite.  She 
went  into  the  drawing-room,  placed  herself  at 
the  window,  sobbed  and  shook,  but  did  not  her- 
[97] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

self  know  that  she  was  not  still.  She  impatiently 
dried  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  so  that  she  could 
see  over  the  snowfield  in  front  of  the  house.  If 
only  she  did  not  cry,  there  was  nothing  she  could 
miss  seeing  in  the  clear  moonlight.  At  last  he 
came. 

*  There  he  is !  there  he  is ! '  she  cried  to  her 
ladyship.  '  He  walks  quickly !  he  runs !  Do 
come  and  see  !  ' 

Her  ladyship  sat  quite  still  before  the  fire.  She 
did  not  move.  She  strained  her  ears  to  hear, 
just  as  much  as  the  other  strained  her  eyes  to 
see.  She  asked  Ingrid  to  be  quiet,  so  that  she 
could  hear  how  he  walked.  Ah,  yes,  she  would 
be  quiet.  Her  ladyship  should  hear  how  he 
walked.  She  grasped  the  window-sill,  as  if  that 
could  help  her. 

'  You  shall  be  quiet,'  she  whispered,  *  so  that 
her  ladyship  can  hear  how  he  walks.' 

Her  ladyship  sat  bending  forward,  listening 
with  all  her  soul.  Did  she  already  hear  his  steps 
in  the  court-yard?  She  probably  thought  he 
would  go  towards  the  kitchen.  Did  she  hear 
that  it  was  the  front  steps  that  creaked  ?  Did 
she  hear  that  it  was  the  door  to  the  front  hall  that 
opened  ?  Did  she  hear  how  quickly  he  came  up 
the  stairs,  two  or  three  steps  at  a  time  ?  Had  his 
mother  heard  that  ?  It  was  not  the  dragging  step 
of  a  peasant,  as  it  had  been  when  he  left  the 
house. 

It  was  almost  more  than  they  could  bear,  to 
hear  him  coming  towards  the  door  of  the  draw- 
ing-room. Had  he  come  in  then,  they  would  no 
doubt  both  have  screamed.  But  he  turned  down 
the  corridor  to  his  own  rooms, 
[98] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

Her  ladyship  fell  back  in  her  chair,  and  her 
eyes  closed.  Ingrid  thought  her  ladyship  would 
have  liked  to  die  at  that  moment.  Without  open- 
ing her  eyes,  she  put  out  her  hand.  Ingrid  went 
softly  up  and  took  it ;  the  old  lady  drew  her 
towards  her. 

'  Mignon,  Mignon,'  she  said ;  *  that  was  the 
right  name  after  all.  But,'  she  continued,  '  we 
must  not  cry.  We  must  not  speak  about  it.  Take 
a  stool  and  come  and  sit  down  by  the  fire.  We 
must  be  calm,  my  little  friend.  Let  us  speak 
about  something  else.  We  must  be  perfectly  calm 
when  he  comes  in.' 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  Hede  came  in ;  the 
tea  was  on  the  table,  and  the  chandeHer  was 
lighted.  He  had  dressed ;  every  trace  of  the 
peasant  had  disappeared.  Ingrid  and  her  lady- 
ship pressed  each  other's  hands. 

They  had  been  sitting  trying  to  imagine  how 
he  would  look  when  he  came  in.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  say  what  he  might  say  or  do,  said  her 
ladyship.  One  never  had  known  what  he  might 
do.  But  in  any  case  they  would  both  be  quite 
calm.  A  feeling  of  great  happiness  had  come 
over  her,  and  that  had  quieted  her.  She  was 
resting,  free  from  all  sorrow,  in  the  arms  of 
angels  carrying  her  upwards,  upwards. 

But  when  Hede  came  in,  there  was  no  sign  of 
confusion  about  him. 

'  I  have  only  come  to  tell  you,'  he  said,  *  that  I 
have  got  such  a  headache,  that  I  shall  have  to  go 
to  bed  at  once.  I  felt  it  already  when  I  was  on 
the  ice.' 

Her  ladyship  made  no  reply.  Everything  was 
[99] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

so  simple ;  she  had  never  thought  it  would  be 
like  that.  It  took  her  a  few  moments  to  realize 
that  he  did  not  know  anything  about  his  illness, 
that  he  was  living  somewhere  in  the  past. 

*  But  perhaps  I  can  first  drink  a  cup  of  tea,' 
he  said,  looking  a  little  surprised  at  their  silence. 

Her  ladyship  went  to  the  tea-tray.  He  looked 
at  her. 

'  Have  you  been  crying,  mother?  You  are  so 
quiet.' 

'  We  have  been  sitting  talking  about  a  sad 
story,  I  and  my  young  friend  here,'  said  her 
ladyship,  pointing  to  Ingrid. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  said.  '  I  did  not  see 
you  had  visitors.' 

The  young  girl  came  forward  towards  the 
light,  beautiful  as  one  would  be  who  knew  that 
the  gates  of  heaven  the  next  moment  would  open 
before  her. 

He  bowed  a  little  stiffly.  He  evidently  did  not 
know  who  she  M^as.  Her  ladyship  introduced 
them  to  each  other.  He  looked  curiously  at  In- 
grid. 

'  I  think  I  saw  Miss  Berg  on  the  ice,'  he  said. 

He  knew  nothing  about  her — had  never 
spoken  to  her  before. 

A  short,  happy  time  followed.  Gunnar  Hede 
v/as  certainly  not  quite  himself ;  but  those  around 
him  were  happy  in  the  belief  that  he  soon  would 
be.  His  memory  was  partly  gone.  He  knew 
nothing  about  certain  periods  of  his  life ;  he 
could  not  play  the  violin ;  he  had  almost  forgot- 
ten all  he  knew  ;  and  his  power  of  thinking  was 

[lOO] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

weak ;  and  he  preferred  neither  to  read  nor  to 
write.  But  still  he  was  very  much  better.  He 
was  not  frightened;  he  was  fond  of  his  mother; 
he  had  again  assumed  the  manners  and  habits 
of  a  gentleman.  One  can  easily  understand  that 
her  ladyship  and  all  her  household  were  de- 
lighted. 

Hede  was  in  the  best  of  spirits — bright  and 
joyous  all  day  long.  He  never  speculated  over 
anything,  put  to  one  side  everything  he  could 
not  understand,  never  spoke  about  anything  that 
necessitated  mental  exertion,  but  talked  merrily 
and  cheerfully.  He  was  most  happy  when  he 
was  engaged  in  bodily  exercise.  He  took  Ingrid 
out  with  him  sledging  and  skating.  He  did  not 
talk  much  to  her,  but  she  was  happy  to  be  with 
him.  He  was  kind  to  Ingrid,  as  he  was  to  every- 
one else,  but  not  in  the  least  in  love  with  her. 
He  often  wondered  about  his  fiancee — wondered 
why  she  never  wrote.  But  after  a  short  time 
that  trouble,  too,  left  him.  He  always  put  away 
from  him  anything  that  worried  him. 

Ingrid  thought  that  he  would  never  get  really 
well  by  doing  like  this.  He  must  some  time  be 
made  to  thmk — to  face  his  own  thoughts,  which 
he  was  afraid  of  doing  now.  But  she  dared  not 
compel  him  to  do  this,  and  there  was  no  one  else 
who  dared.  If  he  began  to  care  for  her  a  little, 
perhaps  she  might  dare.  She  thought  all  they 
now  wanted,  every  one  of  them,  was  a  little  hap- 
piness. 

It  was  just  at  that  time  that  a  little  child  died 
at  the  Parsonage  at  Raglanda  where  Ingrid  had 

[lOl] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

been   brought   up;    and   the   grave-digger   was 
about  to  dig  the  grave. 

The  man  dug  the  grave  quite  close  to  the  spot 
where  the  previous  summer  he  had  dug  the 
grave  for  Ingrid.  And  when  he  had  got  a  few 
feet  into  the  ground  he  happened  to  lay  bare  a 
corner  of  her  cofifin.  The  grave-digger  could  not 
help  smiHng  a  little  to  himself.  Of  course  he  had 
heard  that  the  dead  girl  lying  in  this  cofifin  had 
appeared.  She  was  supposed  to  have  unscrewed 
her  coffin-lid  on  the  very  day  of  her  funeral,  risen 
from  the  grave,  and  appeared  at  the  Parsonage. 
The  Pastor's  wife  was  not  so  much  liked  but  that 
people  in  the  parish  rather  enjoyed  telHng  this 
story  about  her.  The  grave-digger  thought  that 
people  should  only  know  how  securely  the  dead 
were  lying  in  the  ground,  and  how  fast  the  cof- 
fin-lids.    ... 

He  interrupted  himself  in  the  midst  of  this 
thought.  On  the  corner  of  the  cofifiln  which  was 
exposed  the  lid  was  not  quite  straight,  and  one 
of  the  screws  was  not  quite  fast.  He  did  not 
say  anything,  he  did  not  think  anything,  but 
stopped  digging  and  whistled  the  whole  reveille 
of  the  Vermland  Regiment — for  he  was  an  old 
soldier.  Then  he  thought  he  had  better  examine 
the  thing  properly.  It  would  never  do  for  a 
grave-digger  to  have  thoughts  about  the  dead 
which  might  come  and  trouble  him  during  the 
dark  autumn  nights.  He  hastily  removed  some 
more  earth.  Then  he  began  to  hammer  on  the 
cofifin  with  his  shovel.  The  cofifin  answered  quite 
distinctly  that  it  was  empty — empty. 

Half  an  hour  after  the  grave-digger  was  at  the 

[  102] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

Parsonage.  There  was  no  end  to  the  question- 
ings and  surmises.  So  much  they  were  all 
agreed  upon — that  the  young  girl  had  been  in 
the  Dalar  man's  pack.  But  what  had  become  of 
her  afterwards  ? 

Anna  Stina  stood  at  the  oven  in  the  Parsonage 
and  looked  after  the  baking,  for  of  course  there 
was  baking  to  be  done  for  the  new  funeral.  She 
stood  for  a  long  time  listening  to  all  this  talk 
without  saying  a  word.  All  she  took  care  of 
was  that  the  cakes  were  not  burnt.  She  put 
sheet-tins  in  and  took  sheet-tins  out,  and  it  was 
dangerous  to  approach  her  as  she  stood  there 
with  the  long  baker's  shovel.  But  suddenly  she 
took  ofif  her  kitchen-apron,  wiped  the  worst  of 
the  sweat  and  the  soot  from  her  face,  and  was 
talking  with  the  Pastor  in  his  study  almost  be- 
fore she  knew  how  it  had  come  about. 

After  this  it  was  not  so  very  wonderful  that  one 
day  in  March  the  Pastor's  little  red-painted 
sledge,  ornamented  with  green  tulips,  and  drawn 
by  the  Pastor's  httle  red  horse,  pulled  up  at 
Munkhyttan.  Ingrid  was  of  course  obliged  to 
go  back  with  the  Pastor  home  to  her  mother.  The 
Pastor  had  come  to  fetch  her.  He  did  not  say 
much  about  their  being  glad  that  she  was  alive, 
but  one  could  see  how  happy  he  was.  He  had 
never  been  able  to  forgive  himself  that  they  had 
not  been  more  kind  to  their  adopted  daughter. 
And  now  he  was  radiant  at  the  thought  that  he 
was  allowed  to  make  a  new  beginning  and  make 
everything  good  for  her  this  time. 

They  did  not  speak  a  word  about  the  reason 
why  she  had  run  away.  It  was  of  no  use  bring- 
[  103] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

ing  that  up  again  so  long  after.  But  Ingrid  un- 
derstood that  the  Pastor's  wife  had  had  a  hard 
time,  and  had  suffered  many  pangs  of  conscience, 
and  that  they  wanted  to  have  her  back  again  in 
order  to  be  good  to  her.  She  felt  that  she  was 
almost  obliged  to  go  back  to  the  Parsonage  to 
show  that  she  had  no  ill-feeling  against  her 
adopted  parents. 

They  all  thought  it  was  the  most  natural  thing 
that  she  should  go  to  the  Parsonage  for  a  week 
or  two.  And  why  should  she  not?  She  could 
not  make  the  excuse  that  they  needed  her  at 
Munkhyttan.  She  could  surely  be  away  for 
some  weeks  without  it  doing  Gunnar  Hede  any 
harm.  She  felt  it  was  hard,  but  it  was  best  she 
should  go  away,  as  they  all  thought  it  was  the 
right  thing. 

Perhaps  she  had  hoped  they  would  ask  her  not 
to  go  away.  She  took  her  seat  in  the  sledge 
with  the  feeling  that  her  ladyship  or  Miss  Stafva 
would  surely  come  and  lift  her  out  of  it,  and  carry 
her  into  the  house  again.  It  was  impossible  to 
realize  that  she  was  actually  driving  down  the 
avenue,  that  she  was  turning  into  the  forest,  and 
that  Munkhyttan  was  disappearing  behind  her. 

But  supposing  it  was  from  pure  goodness  that 
they  let  her  go?  They  thought,  perhaps,  that 
youth,  with  its  craving  for  pleasure,  wanted  to 
get  away  from  the  loneliness  of  Munkhyttan. 
They  thought,  perhaps,  she  was  tired  of  being 
the  keeper  of  a  crazy  man.  She  raised  her  hand, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  seizing  the  reins  and 
turning  the  horse.  Now  that  she  was  several 
miles  from  the  house  it  struck  her  that  that  was 
[  104 1 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

why  they  had  let  her  go.  She  would  have  liked 
so  much  to  have  gone  back  and  asked  them. 

In  her  utter  loneliness  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
groping  about  in  the  wild  forest.  There  was  not 
a  single  human  being  who  answered  her  or  ad- 
vised her.  She  received  just  as  much  answer 
from  fir  and  pine,  and  squirrel  and  owl,  as  she 
did  from  any  human  being. 

It  was  really  a  matter  of  utter  indifference  to 
her  how  they  treated  her  at  the  Parsonage.  They 
were  very  kind  to  her,  as  far  as  she  knew,  but 
it  really  did  not  matter.  If  she  had  come  to  a 
palace  full  of  everything  one  could  most  desire, 
that  would  likewise  have  been  the  same  to  her. 
No  bed  is  soft  enough  to  give  rest  unto  one 
whose  heart  is  full  of  longing. 

In  the  beginning  she  had  asked  them  every 
day,  as  modestly  as  she  could,  if  they  would  not 
let  her  go  home,  now  that  she  had  had  the  great 
happiness  of  seeing  her  mother  and  her  brothers 
and  sisters.  But  the  roads  were  really  too  bad. 
She  must  stay  with  them  until  the  frost  had  dis- 
appeared. It  was  not  a  matter  of  life  and  death, 
they  supposed,  to  go  back  to  that  place. 

Ingrid  could  not  understand  why  it  annoyed 
people  when  she  said  she  wanted  to  go  back  to 
Munkhyttan.  But  this  seemed  to  be  the  case 
with  her  father  and  her  mother  and  everybody 
else  in  the  parish.  One  had  no  right,  it  ap- 
peared, to  long  for  any  other  place  in  the  world, 
when  one  was  at  Raglanda. 

She  soon  saw  it  was  best  not  to  speak  about 
her  going  away.  There  were  so  many  difficul- 
ties in  the  way  whenever  she  spoke  about  it.  It 
[105] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

was  not  enough  that  the  roads  were  still  in  the 
same  bad  condition ;  they  surrounded  her  with 
walls  and  ramparts  and  moats.  She  would  knit 
and  weave,  and  plant  out  in  the  forcing-frames. 
And  surely  she  would  not  go  away  until  after 
the  large  birthday  party  at  the  Dean's?  And  she 
could  not  think  of  leaving  till  after  Karin  Land- 
berg's  wedding. 

There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  to  lift  her 
hands  in  supplication  to  the  spring,  and  beg  it  to 
make  haste  with  its  work,  beg  for  sunshine  and 
warmth,  beg  the  gentle  sun  to  do  its  very  best 
for  the  great  border  forest,  send  small  piercing 
rays  between  the  fir-trees,  and  melt  the  snow  be- 
neath them.  Dear,  dear  sun !  It  did  not  matter 
if  the  snow  were  not  melted  in  the  valley,  if  only 
the  snow  would  vanish  from  the  mountains,  if 
only  the  forest  paths  became  passable,  if  only 
the  Sater  girls  were  able  to  go  to  their  huts,  if 
only  the  bogs  became  dry,  if  only  it  became 
possible  to  go  by  the  forest  road,  which  was  half 
the  distance  of  the  highroad. 

Ingrid  knew  one  who  would  not  wait  for  car- 
riage, or  ask  for  money  to  drive,  if  only  the  road 
through  the  forest  became  passable.  She  knew 
one  who  would  leave  the  Parsonage  some  moon- 
light night,  and  who  would  do  it  without  asking 
a  single  person's  permission. 

She  thought  she  had  waited  for  the  spring  be- 
fore. That  everybody  does.  But  now  Ingrid 
knew  that  she  had  never  before  longed  for  it. 
Oh  no,  no !  She  had  never  before  known  what 
it  was  to  long.  Before  she  had  waited  for  green 
leaves  and  anemones,  and  the  song  of  the  thrush 
[io6] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

and  the  cuckoo.  But  that  was  childishness — 
nothing  more.  They  did  not  long  for  the  spring 
who  only  thought  of  what  was  beautiful.  One 
should  take  the  first  bit  of  earth  that  peeped 
through  the  snow,  and  kiss  it.  One  should  pluck 
the  first  coarse  leaf  of  the  nettle  simply  to  burn 
into  one  that  now  the  spring  had  come. 

Everybody  was  very  good  to  her.  But  al- 
though they  did  not  say  anything,  they  seemed 
to  think  that  she  was  always  thinking  of  leaving 
them. 

'  I  can't  understand  why  you  want  to  go  back 
to  that  place  and  look  after  that  crazy  fellow,' 
said  Karin  Landberg  one  day.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  could  read  Ingrid's  thoughts. 

'  Oh,  she  has  given  up  thinking  of  that  now,' 
said  the  Pastor's  wife,  before  the  young  girl  had 
time  to  answer. 

When  Karin  was  gone  the  Pastor's  wife  said : 

'  People  wonder  that  you  want  to  leave  us.' 

Ingrid  was  silent. 

'  They  say  that  when  Hede  began  to  improve 
perhaps  you  fell  in  love  with  him.' 

'  Oh  no !  Not  after  he  had  begun  to  improve,' 
Ingrid  said,  feeling  almost  inclined  to  laugh. 

*  In  any  case,  he  is  not  the  sort  of  person  one 
could  marry,'  said  her  adopted  mother.  '  Father 
and  I  have  been  speaking  about  it,  and  we  think 
it  is  best  that  you  should  remain  with  us.' 

'  It  is  very  good  of  you  that  you  want  to  keep 
me,'  Ingrid  said.  And  she  was  touched  that  now 
they  wanted  to  be  so  kind  to  her. 

They  did  not  believe  her,  however  obedient 
she  was.  She  could  not  understand  what  little 
[107] 


From  a  SIVEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

bird  it  was  that  told  them  about  her  longing. 
Now  her  adopted  mother  had  told  her  that  she 
must  not  go  back  to  Munkhyttan.  But  even 
then  she  could  not  leave  the  matter  alone. 

'  If  they  really  wanted  you,'  she  said,  '  they 
would  write  for  you.' 

Ingrid  again  felt  inclined  to  laugh.  That 
would  be  the  strangest  thing  of  all,  should  there 
be  a  letter  from  the  enchanted  castle.  She 
would  like  to  know  if  her  adopted  mother 
thought  that  the  King  of  the  Mountain  wrote 
for  the  maiden  who  had  been  swallowed  by  the 
mountain  to  come  back  when  she  had  gone  to 
see  her  mother? 

But  if  her  adopted  mother  had  known  how 
many  messages  she  had  received  she  would 
probably  have  been  even  more  uneasy.  There 
came  messages  to  her  in  her  dreams  by  nights, 
and  there  came  messages  to  her  in  her  visions  by 
day.  He  let  Ingrid  know  that  he  was  in  need  of 
her.    He  was  so  ill — so  ill ! 

She  knew  that  he  was  nearly  going  out  of  his 
mind  again,  and  that  she  must  go  to  him.  If 
anyone  had  told  her  this,  she  would  simply  have 
answered  that  she  knew  it. 

The  large  star-like  eyes  looked  further  and 
further  away.  Those  who  saw  that  look  would 
never  believe  that  she  meant  to  stay  quietly  and 
patiently  at  home. 

It  is  not  very  difficult  either  to  see  whether  a 
person  is  content  or  full  of  longing.  One  only 
needs  to  see  a  little  gleam  of  happiness  in  the 
eyes  when  he  or  she  comes  in  from  work  and  sits 
down  by  the  fire.  But  in  Ingrid's  eyes  there  was 
[io8] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

no  gleam  of  happiness,  except  when  she  saw  the 
mountain  stream  come  down  through  the  forest, 
broad  and  strong.  It  was  that  that  should  pre- 
pare the  way  for  her. 

It  happened  one  day  that  Ingrid  was  sitting 
alone  with  Karin  Landberg,  and  she  began  to 
tell  her  about  her  life  at  Munkhyttan.  Karin 
was  quite  shocked.  How  could  Ingrid  stand 
such  a  life? 

Karin  Landberg  was  to  be  married  very  soon. 
And  she  was  now  at  that  stage  when  she  could 
speak  of  nothing  but  her  lover.  She  knew  noth- 
ing but  what  he  had  taught  her,  and  she  could 
do  nothing  without  first  consulting  him. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  Oluf  had  said  some- 
thing about  Gunnar  Hede  which  would  help  to 
frighten  Ingrid  if  she  had  begun  to  like  that 
crazy  fellow.  And  then  she  began  to  tell  her  how 
mad  he  had  really  been.  For  Oluf  had  told  her 
that  when  he  was  at  the  fair  last  autumn  some 
gentlemen  had  said  that  they  did  not  think  the 
Goat  was  mad  at  all.  He  only  pretended  to  be 
in  order  to  attract  customers.  But  Oluf  had 
maintained  that  he  was  mad,  and  in  order  to 
prove  it  went  to  the  market  and  bought  a 
wretched  little  goat.  And  then  it  was  plain 
enough  to  see  that  he  was  mad.  Oluf  had  only 
put  the  goat  in  front  of  him  on  the  counter 
where  his  knives  and  things  lay,  and  he  had  run 
away  and  left  both  his  pack  and  his  wares,  and 
they  had  all  laughed  so  awfully  when  they  saw 
how  frightened  he  was.  And  it  was  impossible 
that  Ingrid  could  care  for  anyone  who  had  been 
so  crazy. 

[ioq] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

It  was,  no  doubt,  unwise  of  Karin  Landberg 
that  she  did  not  look  at  Ingrid  whilst  she  told 
this  story.  If  she  had  seen  how  she  frowned, 
she  would  perhaps  have  taken  warning. 

'  And  you  will  marry  anyone  who  could  do 
such  a  thing ! '  Ingrid  said.  '  I  think  it  would  be 
better  to  marry  the  Goat  himself.' 

This  Ingrid  said  in  downright  earnest,  and  it 
seemed  so  strange  to  Karin  that  she,  who  was 
always  so  gentle,  should  have  said  anything  so 
unkind,  that  it  quite  worried  her.  For  several 
days  she  was  quite  unhappy,  because  she  feared 
Oluf  was  not  what  she  would  like  him  to  be.  It 
simply  embittered  Karin's  life  until  she  made  up 
her  mind  to  tell  Oluf  everything;  but  he  was  so 
nice  and  good,  that  he  quite  reassured  her. 

It  is  not  an  easy  task  to  wait  for  the  spring  in 
Vermland.  One  can  have  sun  and  warmth  in  the 
evening,  and  the  next  morning  find  the  ground 
white  with  snow.  Gooseberry-bushes  and  lawns 
may  be  green,  but  the  trees  of  the  birch-forest 
are  bare,  and  seem  as  if  they  will  never  spring 
out. 

At  Whitsuntide  there  was  spring  in  the  air, 
but  Ingrid's  prayers  had  been  of  no  avail.  Not  a 
single  Sater  girl  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  the 
forest,  not  a  fen  was  dry ;  it  was  impossible  to  go 
through  the  forest. 

On  Whit-Sunday  Ingrid  and  her  adopted 
mother  went  to  church.  As  it  was  such  a  great 
festival,  they  had  driven  to  church.  In  olden 
days  Ingrid  had  very  much  enjoyed  driving  up 
to  the  church  in  full  gallop,  whilst  people  along 
the  roadside  politely  took  ofif  their  hats,  and 
[ho] 


fhe  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

those  who  were  standing  on  the  road  rushed  to 
the  side  as  if  they  were  quite  frightened.  But  at 
the  present  moment  she  could  not  enjoy  any- 
thing. '  Longing  takes  the  fragrance  from  the 
rose,  and  the  hght  from  the  full  moon,'  says  an 
old  proverb. 

But  Ingrid  was  glad  for  what  she  heard  in 
church.  It  did  her  good  to  hear  how  the  dis- 
ciples were  comforted  in  their  longing.  She  was 
glad  that  Jesus  thought  of  comforting  those  who 
longed  so  greatly  for  Him. 

Whilst  Ingrid  and  the  rest  of  the  congregation 
were  in  church  a  tall  Dalar  man  came  walking 
down  the  road.  He  wore  a  sheepskin  coat,  and 
had  a  large  pack  on  his  back,  like  one  who  can- 
not tell  winter  from  summer,  or  Sunday  from 
any  other  day.  He  did  not  go  into  the  church, 
but  stole  timidly  past  the  horses  that  were  tied 
to  the  railings,  and  went  into  the  churchyard. 

He  sat  down  on  a  grave  and  thought  of  all  the 
dead  who  were  still  sleeping,  and  of  one  of  the 
dead  who  had  awakened  to  life  again.  He  was 
still  sitting  there  when  the  people  left  the  church. 
Karin  Landberg's  Oluf  was  one  of  the  first  to 
leave  the  church,  and  when  he  happened  to  look 
across  the  churchyard  he  discovered  the  Dalar 
man.  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  it  was  curiosity 
or  some  other  motive  that  prompted  him,  but 
he  went  up  to  talk  to  him.  He  wanted  to  see  if 
it  were  possible  that  he  who  was  supposed  to 
have  been  cured  had  become  mad  again. 

And  it  was  possible.  He  told  him  at  once 
that  he  sat  there  waiting  for  her  who  was 
called  Grave-Lily.  She  was  to  come  and  play  to 
[III] 


From  a  SlVEDlSH  HOMESTEAD 

him.  She  played  so  beautifully  that  the  sun  and 
the  stars  danced. 

Then  Karin  Landberg's  Oluf  told  him  that 
she  for  whom  he  was  waiting  was  standing-  out- 
side the  church.  If  he  stood  up,  he  could  see 
her.    She  would,  no  doubt,  be  glad  to  see  him. 

The  Pastor's  wife  and  Ingrid  were  just  getting 
into  the  carriage,  when  a  tall  Dalar  man  came 
running  up  to  them.  He  came  at  a  great  pace 
in  spite  of  all  the  horses  he  must  curtsy  to,  and 
he  beckoned  eagerly  to  the  young  girl. 

As  soon  as  Ingrid  saw  him  she  stood  quite 
still.  She  could  not  have  told  whether  she  was 
most  glad  to  see  him  again  or  most  grieved  that 
he  had  again  gone  out  of  his  mind;  she  only 
forgot  everything  else  in  the  world. 

Her  eyes  began  to  sparkle.  In  that  moment 
she  saw  nothing  of  the  poor  wretched  man.  She 
only  felt  that  she  was  once  again  near  the  beau- 
tiful soul  of  the  man  for  whom  she  had  longed 
so  terribly. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  about,  and 
they  could  not  help  looking  at  her.  They  could 
not  take  their  eyes  from  her  face.  She  did  not 
move ;  she  stood  waiting  for  him.  But  those 
who  saw  how  radiant  she  was  with  happiness 
must  have  thought  that  she  was  waiting  for 
some  great  and  noble  man,  instead  of  a  poor, 
half-witted  fellow. 

They  said  afterwards  that  it  almost  seemed  as 
if  there  were  some  aflfinity  between  his  soul  and 
hers — some  secret  afifinity  which  lay  so  deeply 
hidden  beneath  their  consciousness  that  no 
human  being  could  understand  it. 

[112] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

But  when  Hede  was  only  a  step  or  two  from 
Ingrid  her  adopted  mother  took  her  resolutely 
round  the  waist  and  lifted  her  into  the  carriage. 
She  would  not  have  a  scene  between  the  two 
just  outside  the  church,  with  so  many  people 
present.  And  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the  car- 
riage the  man  sent  his  horses  off  at  full  gallop. 

A  wild,  terrified  cry  was  heard  as  they  drove 
away.  The  Pastor's  wife  thanked  God  that  she 
had  got  the  young  girl  into  the  carriage. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon  when  a 
peasant  came  to  the  Parsonage  to  speak  with  the 
Pastor.  He  came  to  speak  about  the  crazy  Dalar 
man.  He  had  now  gone  quite  raving  mad,  and 
they  had  been  obliged  to  bind  him.  What  did 
the  Pastor  advise  them  to  do?  What  should 
they  do  with  him  ? 

The  Pastor  could  give  them  no  other  advice 
but  to  take  him  home.  He  told  the  peasant  who 
he  was,  and  where  he  lived. 

Later  on  in  the  evening  he  told  Ingrid  every- 
thing. It  was  best  to  tell  her  the  truth,  and 
trust  to  her  own  common-sense. 

But  when  night  came  it  became  clear  to  her 
that  she  had  not  time  to  wait  for  the  spring.  The 
poor  girl  set  out  for  Munkhyttan  by  the  high- 
road. She  would  no  doubt  be  able  to  get  there 
by  that  road,  although  she  knew  that  it  was 
twice  as  long  as  the  way  through  the  forest. 

It  was  Whit-Monday,  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Ingrid  walked  along  the  highroad.    There  was  a 

wide  expanse  of  country,  with  low  mountains 

and  small  patches  of  birch  forest  between  the 

[113] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

fields.  The  mountain-ash  and  the  bird-cherry 
were  in  bloom ;  the  light,  sticky  leaves  of  the 
aspen  were  just  out.  The  ditches  were  full  of 
clear,  rippling  water  which  made  the  stones  at 
the  bottom  glisten  and  sparkle. 

Ingrid  walked  sorrowfully  along,  thinking  of 
him  whose  mind  had  again  given  way,  wonder- 
ing whether  she  could  do  anything  for  him, 
whether  it  was  of  any  use  that  she  had  left  her 
home  in  this  manner. 

She  was  tired  and  hungry ;  her  shoes  had  be- 
gun to  go  to  pieces.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better 
for  her  to  turn  back.  She  could  never  get  to 
Munkhyttan. 

The  further  she  walked,  the  more  sorrowful 
she  became.  She  could  not  help  thinking  that 
it  could  be  of  no  use  her  coming  now  that  he 
had  gone  quite  out  of  his  mind.  There  was  no 
doubt  it  was  too  late  now ;  it  was  quite  hopeless 
to  do  anything  for  him. 

But  as  soon  as  she  thought  of  turning  back 
she  saw  Gunnar  Hede's  face  close  to  her  cheek, 
as  she  had  so  often  seen  it  before.  It  gave  her 
new  courage ;  she  felt  as  if  he  were  calling  for 
her.  She  again  felt  hopeful  and  confident  of 
being  able  to  help  him. 

Just  as  Ingrid  raised  her  head,  looking  a  little 
less  downcast,  a  queer  little  procession  came 
towards  her. 

There  was  a  little  horse,  drawing  a  little  cart ; 
a  fat  woman  sat  in  the  cart,  and  a  tall,  thin 
man,  with  long,  thin  moustaches  walked  by  the 
side  of  it. 

In  the  country,  where  no  one  understood  any- 
[114] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

thing  about  art,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren  always 
went  in  for  looking  like  ordinary  people.  The 
little  cart  in  which  they  travelled  about  was  well 
covered  over,  and  no  one  could  suspect  that  it 
only  contained  fireworks  and  conjuring  appa- 
ratus and  marionettes. 

No  one  could  suspect  that  the  fat  woman 
who  sat  on  the  top  of  the  load,  looking  like  a 
well-to-do  shopkeeper's  wife,  was  formerly  Miss 
Viola,  who  once  sprang  through  the  air,  or  that 
the  man  who  walked  by  her  side,  and  looked 
like  a  pensioned  soldier,  was  the  same  Mr. 
Blomgren  who  occasionally,  to  break  the  mo- 
notony of  the  journey,  took  it  into  his  head  to 
turn  a  somersault  over  the  horse,  and  play  the 
ventriloquist  with  thrushes  and  siskins  that  sang 
in  the  trees  by  the  roadside,  so  that  he  made 
them  quite  mad. 

The  horse  was  very  small,  and  had  formerly 
drawn  a  roundabout,  and  therefore  it  would 
never  go  unless  it  heard  music.  On  that  ac- 
count Mrs.  Blomgren  generally  sat  playing  the 
Jews'-harp,  but  as  soon  as  they  met  anyone,  she 
put  it  in  her  pocket,  so  that  no  one  should  dis- 
cover they  were  artists,  for  whom  country 
people  have  no  respect  whatever.  Owing  to  this 
they  did  not  travel  very  fast,  but  they  were  not 
in  any  hurry  either. 

The  blind  man,  who  played  the  violin,  had  to 
walk  some  little  distance  behind  the  others  in  or- 
der not  to  betray  the  fact  of  his  belonging  to  the 
company.  The  blind  man  was  led  by  a  little  dog; 
he  was  not  allowed  to  have  a  child  to  lead  him, 
for  that  would  always  have  reminded  Mr.  and 
[115] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Mrs.  Blomgren  of  a  little  girl  who  was  called  In- 
grid.    That  would  have  been  too  sad. 

And  now  they  were  all  in  the  country  on  ac- 
count of  the  spring.  For  however  much  money 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren  were  making  in  the 
towns,  they  felt  they  must  be  in  the  country  at 
that  time  of  the  year,  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren 
were  artists. 

They  did  not  recognise  Ingrid,  and  she  went 
past  them  without  taking  any  notice  of  them,  for 
she  was  in  a  hurry ;  she  was  afraid  of  their  de- 
taining her.  But  directly  afterwards  she  felt  that 
it  was  heartless  and  unkind  of  her,  and  turned 
back. 

If  Ingrid  could  have  felt  glad  about  anything, 
she  would  have  been  glad  by  seeing  the  old  peo- 
ple's joy  at  meeting  her.  You  may  be  sure  they 
had  plenty  to  talk  about.  The  little  horse  turned 
its  head  time  after  time  to  see  what  was  wrong 
with  the  roundabout. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  Ingrid  who  talked  the 
most.  The  two  old  people  saw  at  once  that  she 
had  been  crying,  and  they  were  so  concerned  that 
she  was  obliged  to  tell  them  everything  that  had 
happened  to  her. 

But  it  was  a  relief  to  Ingrid  to  speak.  The  old 
people  had  their  own  way  of  taking  things ;  they 
clapped  their  hands  when  she  told  them  how  she 
had  got  out  of  the  grave  and  how  she  had  fright- 
ened the  Pastor's  wife.  They  caressed  her  and 
praised  her  because  she  had  run  away  from  the 
Parsonage.  For  them  nothing  was  dull  or  sad, 
but  everything  was  bright  and  hopeful.  They 
simply  had  no  standard  by  which  to  measure 
[ii6] 


the  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

reality,  and  therefore  its  hardness  could  not  affect 
them.  They  compared  everything  they  heard 
with  the  pieces  from  marionette  theatres  and  pan- 
tomimes. Of  course,  one  also  put  a  httle  sorrow 
and  misery  into  the  pantomime,  but  that  was  only 
done  to  heighten  the  effect.  And,  of  course, 
everything  would  end  well.  In  the  pantomimes 
it  always  ended  well. 

There  was  something  infectious  in  all  this 
hopefulness.  Ingrid  knew  they  did  not  at  all  un- 
derstand how  great  her  trouble  was,  but  it  was 
cheering  all  the  same  to  listen  to  them. 

But  they  were  also  of  real  help  to  Ingrid.  They 
told  her  that  they  had  had  dinner  a  short  time 
since  at  the  inn  at  Torsaker,  and  just  as  they  were 
getting  up  from  the  table  some  peasants  came 
driving  up  with  a  man  who  was  mad.  Mrs. 
Blomgren  could  not  bear  to  see  mad  people,  and 
wanted  to  go  away  at  once,  and  Mr.  Blomgren 
had  consented.  But  supposing  it  was  Ingrid's 
madman !  And  they  had  hardly  said  the  words 
before  Ingrid  said  that  it  was  very  likely,  and 
wanted  to  set  off  at  once. 

Mr.  Blomgren  then  asked  his  wife  in  his  own 
ceremonious  manner  if  they  were  not  in  the  coun- 
try solely  on  account  of  the  spring,  and  if  it  were 
not  just  the  same  where  they  went.  And  old  Mrs. 
Blomgren  asked  him  equally  ceremoniously  in 
her  turn  if  he  thought  she  would  leave  her  be- 
loved Ingrid  before  she  had  reached  the  harbour 
of  her  happiness. 

Then  the  old  roundabout  horse  was  turned, 
and  conversation  grew  more  difificult,  because 
they  again  had  to  play  on  the  Jews'-harp,  As 
[117] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

soon  as  Mrs.  Blomgren  wished  to  say  anything, 
she  was  obliged  to  hand  the  instrument  to  Mr. 
Blomgren,  and  when  Mr.  Blomgren  wanted  to 
speak,  he  gave  it  back  again  to  his  wife.  And 
the  little  horse  stood  still  every  time  the  instru- 
ment passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

The  whole  time  they  did  their  best  to  comfort 
Ingrid.  They  related  all  the  fairy  tales  they  had 
seen  represented  at  the  dolls'  theatre.  They  com- 
forted her  with  the  '  Enchanted  Princess,'  they 
comforted  her  with  *  Cinderella,'  they  comforted 
her  with  all  the  fairy  tales  under  the  sun. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren  watched  Ingrid  when 
they  saw  that  her  eyes  grew  brighter.  '  Artist's 
eyes,'  they  said,  nodding  contentedly  to  each 
other.    '  What  did  we  say  ?    Artist's  eyes  !  ' 

In  some  incomprehensible  manner  they  had 
got  the  idea  that  Ingrid  had  become  one  of  them, 
an  artist.  They  thought  she  was  playing  a  part 
in  a  drama.  It  was  a  triumph  for  them  in  their 
old  age. 

On  they  went  as  fast  as  they  could.  The  old 
couple  were  only  afraid  that  the  madman  would 
not  be  at  the  inn  any  longer.  But  he  was  there, 
and  the  worst  of  it  was,  no  one  knew  how  to  get 
him  away. 

The  two  peasants  from  Raglanda  who  had 
brought  him  had  taken  him  to  one  of  the  rooms 
and  locked  him  in  whilst  they  were  waiting  for 
fresh  horses.  When  they  left  him  his  arms  had 
been  tied  behind  him,  but  he  had  somehow  man- 
aged to  free  his  hands  from  the  cord,  and  when 
they  came  to  fetch  him  he  was  free,  and,  beside 
himself  with  rage,  had  seized  a  chair,  with  which 
[ii8] 


ne  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

he  threatened  to  strike  anyone  who  approached 
him.  They  could  do  nothing  but  beat  a  hasty  re- 
treat and  lock  the  door.  The  peasants  now  only 
waited  for  the  landlord  and  his  men  to  return  and 
help  them  to  bind  him  again. 

All  the  hope  which  Ingrid's  old  friends  had  re- 
awakened within  her  was,  however,  not  quenched. 
She  quite  saw  that  Gunnar  Hede  was  worse  than 
he  had  ever  been  before,  but  that  was  what  she 
had  expected.  She  still  hoped.  It  was  not  their 
fairy  tales,  it  was  their  great  love  that  had  given 
her  new  hope. 

She  asked  the  men  to  let  her  go  to  the  mad- 
man. She  said  she  knew  him,  and  he  would  not 
do  her  any  harm  ;  but  the  peasants  said  they  were 
not  mad.  The  man  in  the  room  would  kill  any- 
body who  went  in. 

Ingrid  sat  down  to  think.  She  thought  how 
strange  it  was  that  she  should  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Blomgren  just  to-day.  Surely  that  meant  some- 
thing. She  would  never  have  met  them  if  it  had 
not  been  for  some  purpose.  And  Ingrid  thought 
of  how  Hede  had  regained  his  senses  the  last 
time.  Could  she  not  again  make  him  do  some- 
thing which  would  remind  him  of  olden  days,  and 
drive  away  his  mad  thoughts  ?  She  thought  and 
thought. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blomgren  sat  on  a  seat  outside 
the  inn,  looking  more  unhappy  than  one  would 
have  thought  was  possible.  They  were  not  far 
from  crying. 

Ingrid,  their  *  child,'  came  up  to  them  with  a 
smile — such  a  smile  as  only  she  could  have — and 
[119] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

stroked  their  old,  wrinkled  cheeks,  and  said  it 
would  please  her  so  much  if  they  would  let  her 
see  a  performance  like  those  she  used  to  see  every 
day  in  the  olden  time.  It  would  be  such  a  com- 
fort to  her. 

At  first  they  said  no,  for  they  were  not  at  all  in 
proper  artist  humour,  but  when  she  had  expended 
a  few  smiles  upon  them  they  could  not  resist  her. 
They  went  to  their  cart  and  unpacked  their  cos- 
tumes. 

When  they  were  ready  they  called  for  the  blind 
man,  and  Ingrid  selected  the  place  where  the  per- 
formance was  to  be  held.  She  would  not  let  them 
perform  in  the  yard,  but  took  them  into  the  gar- 
den belonging  to  the  inn,  for  there  was  a  garden 
belonging  to  this  inn.  It  was  mostly  full  of  beds 
for  vegetables  which  had  not  yet  come  up,  but 
here  and  there  was  an  apple-tree  in  bloom.  And 
Ingrid  said  she  would  like  them  to  perform  under 
one  of  the  apple-trees  in  bloom. 

Some  lads  and  servant-girls  came  running 
when  they  heard  the  violin,  so  there  was  a  small 
audience.  But  it  was  hard  work  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Blomgren  to  perform.  Ingrid  had  asked  too 
much  of  them  ;  they  were  really  much  too  sad. 

And  it  was  very  unfortunate  that  Ingrid  had 
taken  them  out  into  the  garden.  She  had  evi- 
dently not  remembered  that  the  rooms  in  the  inn 
faced  this  way.  Mrs.  Blomgren  was  very  nearly 
running  away  when  she  heard  a  window  in  one 
of  the  rooms  quickly  opened.  Supposing  the 
madman  had  heard  the  music,  and  supposing  he 
jumped  out  of  the  window  and  came  to  them  ? 

But  Mrs.  Blomgren  was  somewhat  reassured 

[  120  ] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

when  she  saw  who  had  opened  the  window.  It 
was  a  young  gentleman  with  a  pleasant  face.  He 
was  in  shirt-sleeves,  but  otherwise  very  decently 
dressed.  His  eye  was  quiet,  his  lips  smiled,  and 
he  stroked  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead  with 
his  hand. 

Mr.  Blomgren  was  working,  and  was  so  taken 
up  with  the  performance  that  he  did  not  notice 
anything.  Mrs.  Blomgren,  who  had  nothing  else 
to  do  but  kiss  her  hands  in  all  directions,  had 
time  to  observe  everything. 

It  was  astonishing  how  radiant  Ingrid  sud- 
denly looked.  Her  eyes  shone  as  never  before, 
and  her  face  was  so  white  that  light  seemed  to 
come  from  it.  And  all  this  radiancy  was  directed 
towards  the  man  in  the  window. 

He  did  not  hesitate  long.  He  stood  up  on  the 
window-sill  and  jumped  down  to  them,  and  he 
went  up  to  the  blind  man  and  asked  him  to  lend 
him  his  violin.  Ingrid  at  once  took  the  violin 
from  the  blind  man  and  gave  it  to  him. 

'  Play  the  waltz  from  "  Freischiitz,"  '  she  said. 

Then  the  man  began  to  play,  and  Ingrid  smiled, 
but  she  looked  so  unearthly  that  Mrs.  Blomgren 
almost  thought  that  she  would  dissolve  into  a 
sunbeam,  and  fly  away  from  them.  But  as  soon 
as  Mrs.  Blomgren  heard  the  man  play  she  knew 
him  again. 

'  Is  that  how  it  is? '  she  said  to  herself.  '  Is  it 
he?  That  was  why  she  wanted  to  see  two  old 
people  perform.' 

Gunnar  Hede,  who  had  been  walking  up  and 
down  his  room  in  such  a  rage  that  he  felt  inclined 

[121] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

to  kill  someone,  had  suddenly  heard  a  blind  man 
playing  outside  his  window,  and  that  had  taken 
him  back  to  an  incident  in  his  former  life. 

He  could  not  at  first  understand  where  his 
own  violin  was,  but  then  he  remembered  that  Alin 
had  taken  it  away  with  him,  and  now  the  only 
thing  left  for  him  to  do  was  to  try  and  borrow  the 
blind  man's  violin  to  play  himself  quiet  again ;  he 
was  so  excited.  And  as  soon  as  he  had  got  the 
violin  in  his  hand  he  began  to  play.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  could  not  play.  He  had  no 
idea  that  for  several  years  he  had  only  been  able 
to  play  some  poor  little  tunes. 

He  thought  all  the  time  he  was  in  Upsala,  out- 
side the  house  with  the  Virginia-creepers,  and  he 
expected  the  acrobats  would  begin  to  dance  as 
they  had  done  last  time.  He  endeavoured  to 
play  with  more  life  to  make  them  do  so,  but  his 
fingers  were  stiff  and  awkward ;  the  bow  would 
not  properly  obey  them.  He  exerted  himself  so 
much  that  the  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead. 

At  last,  however,  he  got  hold  of  the  right  tune 
— the  same  they  had  danced  to  the  last  time.  He 
played  it  so  enticingly,  so  temptingly,  that  it 
ought  to  have  melted  their  hearts.  But  the  old 
acrobats  did  not  begin  to  dance.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  they  had  met  the  student  at  Upsala  ; 
they  did  not  remember  how  enthusiastic  they 
were  then.  They  had  no  idea  what  he  expected 
them  to  do. 

Gunnar  Hede  looked  at  Ingrid  for  an  explana- 
tion why  they  did  not  dance.  When  he  looked  at 
her  there  was  such  an  unearthly  radiance  in  her 
eyes  that  in  his  astonishment  he  gave  up  playing. 

[  122] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  round  the  small 
crowd.  They  all  looked  at  him  with  such  strange, 
uneasy  glances.  It  was  impossible  toplaywith  peo- 
ple staring  at  him  so.  He  simply  went  away  from 
them.  There  were  some  apple-pears  in  bloom  at 
the  other  end  of  the  garden,  so  he  went  there. 

He  saw  now  that  nothing  fitted  in  with  the  ideas 
he  had  just  had  that  Alin  had  locked  him  in,  and 
that  he  was  at  Upsala.  The  garden  was  too  large, 
and  the  house  was  not  covered  with  red  creepers. 
No,  it  could  not  be  Upsala.  But  he  did  not  mind 
very  much  where  he  was.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if 
he  had  not  played  for  centuries,  and  now  he  had 
got  hold  of  a  violin.  Now  he  would  play.  He 
placed  the  violin  against  his  cheek,  and  began. 
But  again  he  was  stopped  by  the  stiffness  in  his 
fingers.  He  could  only  play  the  very  simplest 
things. 

'  I  shall  have  to  begin  at  the  beginning,'  he 
said. 

And  he  smiled  and  played  a  little  minuet.  It 
was  the  first  thing  he  had  learnt.  His  father  had 
played  it  to  him,  and  he  had  afterwards  played  it 
from  ear.  He  saw  all  at  once  the  whole  scene  be- 
fore him,  and  he  heard  the  words : 

'  The  little  Prince  should  learn  to  dance,  but  he 
broke  his  little  leg.' 

Then  he  tried  to  play  several  other  small 
dances.  They  were  some  he  had  played  as  a 
school  boy.  They  had  asked  him  to  play  at  the 
dancing-lessons  at  the  young  ladies'  boarding- 
school.  He  could  see  the  girls  dance  and  swing 
about,  and  could  hear  the  dancing-mistress  beat 
the  time  with  her  foot. 

[123] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Then  he  grew  bolder.  He  played  first  violin  in 
one  of  Mozart's  quartettes.  When  he  learnt  that, 
he  was  in  the  Sixth  Form  at  the  Latin  school  at 
Falun.  Some  old  gentlemen  had  practised  this 
quartette  for  a  concert,  but  the  first  violin  had 
been  taken  ill,  and  he  was  asked  to  take  his  part, 
young  as  he  was.  He  remembered  how  proud  he 
had  been. 

Gunnar  Hede  only  thought  of  getting  his  fin- 
gers into  practice  when  he  played  these  childish 
exercises.  But  he  soon  noticed  that  something 
strange  was  happening  to  him.  He  had  a  distinct 
sensation  that  in  his  brain  there  was  some  great 
darkness  that  hid  his  past.  As  soon  as  he  tried 
to  remember  anything,  it  was  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  find  something  in  a  dark  room ;  but  when  he 
played,  some  of  the  darkness  vanished.  Without 
his  having  thought  of  it,  the  darkness  had  van- 
ished so  much  that  he  could  now  remember  his 
childhood  and  school  life. 

Then  he  made  up  his  mind  to  let  himself  be  led 
by  the  violin  ;  perhaps  it  could  drive  away  all  the 
darkness.  And  so  it  did,  for  every  piece  he 
played  the  darkness  vanished  a  little.  The  violin 
led  him  through  the  one  year  after  the  other, 
awoke  in  him  memories  of  studies,  friends  and 
pleasures.  The  darkness  stood  like  a  wall  before 
him,  but  when  he  advanced  against  it,  armed  with 
the  violin,  it  vanished  step  by  step.  Now  and 
then  he  looked  round  to  see  whether  it  closed 
again  behind  him.  But  behind  him  was  bright 
day. 

The  violin  came  to  a  series  of  duets  for  piano 
and  violin.  He  only  played  a  bar  or  two  of  each. 
[  124] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

But  a  large  portion  of  the  darkness  vanished ;  he 
remembered  his  fiancee  and  his  engagement.  He 
would  like  to  have  dwelt  a  little  over  this,  but 
there  was  still  much  darkness  left  to  be  played 
away.    He  had  no  time. 

He  glided  into  a  hymn.  He  had  heard  it  once 
when  he  was  unhappy.  He  remembered  he  was 
sitting  in  a  village  church  when  he  heard  it.  But 
why  had  be  been  unhappy?  Because  he  went 
about  the  country  selling  goods  like  a  poor  ped- 
lar. It  was  a  hard  life.  It  was  sad  to  think 
about  it. 

The  bow  went  over  the  strings  like  a  whirlwind, 
and  again  cut  through  a  large  portion  of  the 
darkness.  Now  he  saw  the  Fifty-Mile  Forest,  the 
snow-covered  animals,  the  weird  shapes,  the  drifts 
made  of  them.  He  remembered  the  journey  to 
see  his  fiancee,  remembered  that  she  had  broken 
the  engagement.  All  this  became  clear  to  him  at 
one  time. 

He  really  felt  neither  sorrow  nor  joy  over  any- 
thing he  remembered.  The  most  important  thing 
was  that  he  did  remember.  This  of  itself  was  an 
unspeakable  pleasure.  But  all  at  once  the  bow 
stopped,  as  if  of  its  own  accord.  It  would  not 
lead  him  any  further.  And  yet  there  was  more — 
much  more — that  he  must  remember.  The  dark- 
ness still  stood  like  a  solid  wall  before  him. 

He  compelled  the  bow  to  go  on.  And  it  played 
two  quite  common  tunes,  the  poor-est  he  had  ever 
heard.  How  could  his  bow  have  learned  such 
tunes?  The  darkness  did  not  vanish  in  the  least 
for  these  tunes.  They  really  taught  him  nothinrr ; 
but  from  them  came  a  terror  which  he  could  not 
[125] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

remember  having  ever  felt  before — an  inconceiv- 
able, awful  fear,  the  mad  terror  of  a  doomed  soul. 

He  stopped  playing;  he  could  not  bear  it. 
What  was  there  in  these  tunes — what  was  there  ? 
The  darkness  did  not  vanish  for  them,  and  the 
awful  thing  was,  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  when 
he  did  not  advance  against  the  darkness  with  the 
violin  and  drive  it  before  him,  it  came  gliding 
towards  him  to  overwhelm  him. 

He  had  been  standing  playing,  with  his  eyes 
half  closed  ;  now  he  opened  them  and  looked  into 
the  world  of  reality.  He  saw  Ingrid,  who  had 
been  standing  listening  to  him  the  whole  time. 
He  asked  her,  not  expecting  an  answer,  but  sim- 
ply to  keep  back  the  darkness  for  a  moment : 

'  When  did  I  last  play  this  tune? ' 

But  Ingrid  stood  trembHng.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind,  whatever  happened,  now  he  should 
hear  the  truth.  Afraid  she  was,  but  at  the  same 
time  full  of  courage,  and  quite  decided  as  to  what 
she  meant  to  do.  He  should  not  again  escape 
her,  not  be  allowed  to  sHp  away  from  her.  But 
in  spite  of  her  courage  she  did  not  dare  to  tell  him 
straight  out  that  these  were  the  tunes  he  had 
played  whilst  he  was  out  of  his  mind ;  she  evaded 
the  question. 

'  That  was  what  you  used  to  play  at  Munk- 
hyttan  last  winter,'  she  said. 

Hede  felt  as  if  he  were  surrounded  by  nothing 
but  mysteries.  Why  did  this  young  girl  say  '  dii ' 
to  him  ?    She  was  not  a  peasant  girl.*    Her  hair 

*  The  peasants  in  the  Dalar  district  used  formerly  to  address 
everybody  by  the  pronoun  du  (thou),  even  when  speaking  to 
the  King  ;  this  custom  is  now,  however,  not  so  general. — I.E. 
[126] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY   HOUSE 

was  dressed  like  other  young  ladies',  on  the  top  of 
the  head  and  in  small  curls.  Her  dress  was  home- 
woven,  but  she  wore  a  lace  collar.  She  had  small 
hands  and  a  refined  face.  This  face,  with  the 
large,  dreamy  eyes,  could  not  belong  to  a  peasant 
girl.  Hede's  memory  could  not  tell  him  any- 
thing about  her.  Why  did  she,  then,  say  '  du  '  to 
him  ?  How  did  she  know  that  he  had  played 
these  tunes  at  home  ? 

'  What  is  your  name  ?  '  he  said.  '  Who  are 
you  ? ' 

'  I  am  Ingrid,  whom  you  saw  at  Upsala  many 
years  ago,  and  whom  you  comforted  because  she 
could  not  learn  to  dance  on  the  tight-rope.' 
.  This  went  back  to  the  time  he  could  partly  re- 
member.    Now  he  did  remember  her. 

'  How  tall  and  pretty  you  have  grown,  Ingrid  !  ' 
he  said.  '  And  how  fine  you  have  become ! 
What  a  beautiful  brooch  you  have ! ' 

He  had  been  looking  at  her  brooch  for  some 
time.  He  thought  he  knew  it;  it  was  like  a 
brooch  of  enamel  and  pearls  his  mother  used  to 
wear.    The  young  girl  answered  at  once. 

'  Your  mother  gave  it  to  me.  You  must  have 
seen  it  before.' 

Gunnar  Hede  put  down  the  violin  and  went  up 
to  Ingrid.    He  asked  her  almost  violently : 

'  How  is  it  possible — how  can  you  wear  her 
brooch?  How  is  it  that  I  don't  know  anything 
about  your  knowing  my  mother?  ' 

Ingrid  was  frightened.  She  grew  almost  gray 
with  terror.  She  knew  already  what  the  next 
question  would  be. 

*  I  know  nothing,  Ingrid.     I  don't  know  why 
[  127  ] 


from  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

I  am  here.  I  don't  know  why  you  are  here.  Why 
don't  I  know  all  this? ' 

'  Oh,  don't  ask  me!  ' 

She  went  back  a  step  or  two,  and  stretched  out 
her  hands  as  if  to  protect  herself. 

'  Won't  you  tell  me  ?  ' 

'  Don't  ask  !  don't  ask  !  ' 

He  seized  her  roughly  by  the  wrist  to  compel 
her  to  tell  the  truth. 

'  Tell  me !  I  am  in  my  full  senses !  Why  is 
there  so  much  I  can't  remember?  ' 

She  saw  something  wild  and  threatening  in  his 
eyes.  She  knew  now  that  she  would  be  obliged 
to  tell  him.  But  she  felt  as  if  it  were  impossible 
to  tell  a  man  that  he  had  been  mad.  It  was  much 
more  difificult  than  she  had  thought.  It  was  im- 
possible— impossible ! 

'  Tell  me  ! '  he  repeated. 

But  she  could  hear  from  his  voice  that  he  would 
not  hear  it.  He  was  almost  ready  to  kill  her  if 
she  told  him.  Then  she  summoned  up  all  her 
love,  and  looked  straight  into  Gunnar  Hede's 
eyes,  and  said : 

*  You  have  not  been  quite  right.' 

*  Not  for  a  long  time  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  quite  know — not  for  three  or  four 
years.' 

'  Have  I  been  out  of  my  mind  ?  ' 

'  No,  no !  You  have  bought  and  sold  and  gone 
to  the  fairs.' 

'  In  what  way  have  I  been  mad  ?  * 

*  You  were  frightened.' 

'  Of  whom  was  I  frightened?  ' 
'  Of  animals.' 

[128] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

*  Of  goats,  perhaps  ? ' 

'  Yes,  mostly  of  goats.'  . 

He  had  stood  ckitching  her  by  the  wrist  the 
whole  time.  He  now  liung  her  hand  away  from 
him — simply  flung  it.  He  turned  away  from  In- 
grid  in  a  rage,  as  if  she  had  maliciously  told  him 
an  infamous  lie. 

But  this  feeling  gave  way  for  something  else 
which  excited  him  still  more.  He  saw  before  his 
eyes,  as  distinctly  as  if  it  had  been  a  picture,  a  tall 
Dalar  man,  weighed  down  by  a  huge  pack.  He 
was  going  into  a  peasant's  house,  but  a  wretched 
little  dog  came  rushing  at  him.  He  stopped  and 
curtsied  and  curtsied,  and  did  not  dare  to  go  in 
until  a  man  came  out  of  the  house,  laughing,  and 
drove  the  dog  away. 

When  he  saw  this  he  again  felt  that  terrible 
fear.  In  this  anguish  the  vision  disappeared,  but 
then  he  heard  voices.  They  shouted  and  shrieked 
around  him.  They  laughed.  Derision  was  show- 
ered upon  him.  Worst  and  loudest  were  the 
shrill  voices  of  children.  One  word,  one  name 
came  over  and  over  again :  it  was  shouted, 
shrieked,  whispered,  wheezed  into  his  ear — '  The 
Goat !  the  Goat ! '  And  that  all  meant  him,  Gun- 
nar  Hede.  All  that  he  had  lived  in.  He  felt  in 
full  consciousness  the  same  unspeakable  fear  he 
had  suffered  whilst  out  of  his  mind.  But  now  it 
was  not  fear  for  anything  outside  himself — now 
he  was  afraid  of  himself. 

'  It  was  I !    it  was  I !  '  he  said,  wringing  his 

hands.      The    next    moment    he    was    kneeling 

against  a  low  seat.     He  laid  his  head  down  and 

cried,   cried :     '  It   was   I ! '     He   moaned   and 

[129] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

sobbed.  '  It  was  I ! '  How  could  he  have  cour- 
age to  bear  this  thought — a  madman,  scorned 
and  laughed  at  by  all  ?  '  Ah !  let  me  go  mad 
again !  '  he  said,  hitting  the  seat  with  his  fist. 
'  This  is  more  than  a  human  being  can  bear.' 

He  held  his  breath  a  moment.  The  darkness 
came  towards  him  as  the  saviour  he  invoked.  It 
came  gliding  towards  him  like  a  mist.  A  smile 
passed  over  his  lips.  He  could  feel  the  muscles 
of  his  face  relax,  feel  that  he  again  had  the  look 
of  a  madman.  But  that  was  better.  The  other 
he  could  not  bear.  To  be  pointed  at,  jeered  at, 
scorned,  mad !  No,  it  was  better  to  be  so  again 
and  not  to  know  it.  Why  should  he  come  back 
to  life?  Everyone  must  loathe  him.  The  first 
light,  fleeting  clouds  of  the  great  darkness  began 
to  enwrap  him. 

Ingrid  stood  there,  seeing  and  hearing  all  his 
anguish,  not  knowing  but  that  all  would  soon  be 
lost  again.  She  saw  clearly  that  madness  was 
again  about  to  seize  him.  She  was  so  frightened, 
so  frightened,  all  her  courage  had  gone.  But  be- 
fore he  again  lost  his  senses,  and  became  so 
scared  that  he  allowed  no  one  to  come  near  him, 
she  would  at  least  take  leave  of  him  and  of  all 
her  happiness. 

Gunnar  Hede  felt  that  Ingrid  came  and  knelt 
down  beside  him,  laid  her  arm  round  his  neck, 
put  her  cheek  to  his,  and  kissed  him.  She  did  not 
think  herself  too  good  to  come  near  him,  the 
madman,  did  not  think  herself  too  good  to  kiss 
him. 

There  was  a  faint  hissing  in  the  darkness.  The 
mist  lifted,  and  it  was  as  if  serpents  had  raised 
[  130  ] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

their  heads  against  him,  and  now  wheezed  with 
anger  that  they  could  not  reach  to  sting  him. 

'  Do  not  be  so  unhappy,'  Ingrid  said.  *  Do  not 
be  so  unhappy.  No  one  thinks  of  the  past,  if  you 
will  only  get  well.' 

'  I  want  to  be  mad  again,'  he  said.  '  I  cannot 
bear  it.    I  cannot  bear  to  think  how  I  have  been.' 

'  Yes,  you  can,'  said  Ingrid. 

*  No ;  that  no  one  can  forget,'  he  moaned.  '  I 
was  so  dreadful !    No  one  can  love  me.' 

'  I  love  you,'  she  said. 

He  looked  up  doubtfully. 

'  You  kissed  me  in  order  that  I  should  not  go 
out  of  my  mind  again.    You  pity  me.' 

'  I  will  kiss  you  again,'  she  said. 

'  You  say  that  now  because  you  think  I  am  in 
need  of  hearing  it.' 

*  Are  you  in  need  of  hearing  that  someone  loves 
you?' 

'  If  I  am — if  I  am  ?  Ah,  child,'  he  said,  and  tore 
himself  away  from  her,  *  how  can  I  possibly  bear 
it,  when  I  know  that  everyone  who  sees  me 
thinks :  "  That  fellow  has  been  mad  ;  he  has  gone 
about  curtsying  for  dogs  and  cats."  ' 

Then  he  began  again.  He  lay  crying  with  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

'  It  is  better  to  go  out  of  one's  mind  again.  I 
can  hear  them  shouting  after  me,  and  I  see  myself, 
and  the  anguish,  the  anguish,  the  anguish ' 

But  then  Ingrid's  patience  came  to  an  end. 

*  Yes,  that  is  right,'  she  cried  ;  '  go  out  of  your 
mind  again.  I  call  that  manly  to  go  mad  in  order 
to  escape  a  little  anguish.' 

She  sat  biting  her  lips,  struggling  with  her 
[131] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

tears,  and  as  she  could  not  get  the  words  out 
quickly  enough,  she  seized  him  by  the  shoulder 
and  shook  him.  She  was  enraged  and  quite  be- 
side herself  with  anger  because  he  would  again 
escape  her,  because  he  did  not  struggle  and 
fight. 

'  What  do  you  care  about  me  ?  What  do  you 
care  about  your  mother  ?  You  go  mad,  and  then 
you  will  have  peace.'  She  shook  him  again  by 
the  arm.  '  To  be  saved  from  anguish,  you  say, 
but  you  don't  care  about  one  who  has  been  wait- 
ing for  you  all  her  life.  If  you  had  any  thought 
for  anyone  but  yourself,  you  would  fight  against 
this  and  get  well ;  but  you  have  no  thought  for 
others.  You  can  come  so  touchingly  in  visions 
and  dreams  and  beg  for  help,  but  in  reality  you 
will  not  have  any  help.  You  imagine  that  your 
sufferings  are  greater  than  anyone  else's,  but 
there  are  others  who  have  suffered  more  than 
you.' 

At  last  Gunnar  Hede  raised  his  eyes,  and 
looked  her  straight  in  the  face.  She  was  any- 
thing but  beautiful  at  this  moment.  Tears  were 
streaming  down  her  cheeks,  and  her  lips  trembled, 
whilst  she  tried  to  get  out  the  words  between  her 
sobs.  But  in  his  eyes  her  emotion  only  made  her 
more  beautiful.  A  wonderful  peace  came  over 
him,  and  a  great  and  humble  thankfulness. 
Something  great  and  wonderful  had  come  to  him 
in  his  deepest  humiliation.  It  must  be  a  great 
love — a  great  love. 

He  had  sat  bemoaning  his  wretchedness,  and 
Love  came  and  knocked  at  his  door.    He  would 
not  merely  be  tolerated  when  he  came  back  to 
[  132] 


The  STORY  of  a  COUNTRY  HOUSE 

life ;  people  would  not  only  with  difficulty  refrain 
from  laughing  at  him. 

There  was  one  who  loved  him  and  longed  for 
him.  She  spoke  hardly  to  him,  but  he  heard  love 
trembling  in  every  single  word.  He  felt  as  if  she 
were  offering  him  thrones  and  kingdoms.  She 
told  him  that  whilst  he  had  been  out  of  his  mind 
he  had  saved  her  life.  He  had  awakened  her  from 
the  dead,  had  helped  her,  protected  her.  But  this 
was  not  enough  for  her ;  she  would  possess  him 
altogether. 

When  she  kissed  him  he  had  felt  a  life-giving 
balm  enter  his  sick  soul,  but  he  had  hardly  dared 
to  think  that  it  was  love  that  made  her.  But  he 
could  not  doubt  her  anger  and  her  tears.  He 
was  beloved — he,  poor  wretched  creature !  he 
who  had  been  held  in  derision  by  everybody  !  and 
before  the  great  and  humble  bliss  which  now 
filled  Gunnar  Hede  vanished  the  last  darkness.  It 
was  drawn  aside  like  a  heavy  curtain,  and  he  saw 
plainly  before  him  the  region  of  terror  through 
which  he  had  wandered.  But  there,  too,  he  had 
met  Ingrid ;  there  he  had  lifted  her  from  the 
grave ;  there  he  had  played  for  her  at  the  hut  in 
the  forest ;  there  she  had  striven  to  heal  him. 

But  only  the  memory  of  her  came  back :  the 
feelings  with  which  she  had  formerly  inspired  him 
now  awoke.  Love  filled  his  whole  being ;  he  felt 
the  same  burning  longing  that  he  had  felt  in  the 
churchyard  at  Raglanda  when  she  was  taken  from 
him. 

In  that  region  of  terror,  in  that  great  desert, 
there  had  at  any  rate  grown  one  flower  that  had 
comforted  him  with  fragrance  and  beauty,  and 
[  133] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

now  he  felt  that  love  would  dwell  with  him  for- 
ever. The  wild  flower  of  the  desert  had  been 
transplanted  into  the  garden  of  life,  and  had  taken 
root  and  grown  and  thriven,  and  when  he  felt  this 
he  knew  he  was  saved  ;  he  knew  that  the  darkness 
had  found  its  master. 

Ingrid  was  silent.  She  was  tired,  as  one  is  tired 
after  hard  work ;  but  she  was  also  content,  for 
she  felt  she  had  carried  out  her  work  in  the  best 
possible  manner.    She  knew  she  had  conquered. 

At  last  Gunnar  Hede  broke  the  silence. 

*  I  promise  you  that  I  will  not  give  in,'  he  said. 

*  Thank  you,'  Ingrid  answered. 
Nothing  more  was  said. 

Gunnar  Hede  thought  he  would  never  be  able 
to  tell  her  how  much  he  loved  her.  It  could  never 
be  told  in  words,  only  shown  every  day  and  every 
hour  of  his  life. 


[I34l 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 
II 

^eens  at  Kungahalla 


Qjieens  at  Kungahalla 
On  the  Site  of  the  Great  Kungahalla 

SHOULD  a  stranger  who  had  heard  about 
the  old  city  of  Kungahalla  ever  visit  the  site 
on  the  northern  river  where  it  once  lay,  he 
would  assuredly  be  much  surprised.  He  would 
ask  himself  whether  churches  and  fortifications 
could  melt  away  like  snow,  or  if  the  earth  had 
opened  and  swallowed  them  up.  He  stands  on 
a  spot  where  formerly  there  was  a  mighty  city, 
and  he  cannot  find  a  street  or  a  landing-stage. 
He  sees  neither  ruins  nor  traces  of  devastating 
fires ;  he  only  sees  a  country  seat,  surrounded  by 
green  trees  and  red  outbuildings.  He  sees  noth- 
ing but  broad  meadows  and  fields,  where  the 
plough  does  its  work  year  after  year  without  be- 
ing hindered  either  by  brick  foundations  or  old 
pavements. 

He  would  probably  first  of  all  go  down  to  the 
river.  He  would  not  expect  to  see  anything  of 
the  great  ships  that  went  to  the  Baltic  ports  or  to 
distant  Spain,  but  he  would  in  all  likelihood  think 
that  he  might  find  traces  of  the  old  ship-yards,  of 
the  large  boat-houses  and  landing-stages.  He 
presumes  that  he  will  find  some  of  the  old  kilns 
where  they  used  to  refine  salt ;  he  will  see  the 
worn-out  pavement  on  the  main  street  that  led  to 
[  137  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  harbour.  He  will  inquire  about  the  German 
pier  and  the  Swedish  pier ;  he  would  like  to  see 
the  Weeping  Bridge  where  the  women  of  Kunga- 
halla  took  leave  of  their  husbands  and  sons  when 
they  went  to  distant  lands,  but  when  he  comes 
down  to  the  river's  edge  he  sees  nothing  but  a 
forest  of  waving  reeds.  He  sees  a  road  full  of 
holes  leading  down  to  the  ferry ;  he  sees  a  couple 
of  common  barges  and  a  little  flat-bottomed  ferry- 
boat that  is  taking  a  peasant  cart  over  to  Hisin- 
gen,  but  no  big  ships  come  gliding  up  the  river. 
He  does  not  even  see  any  dark  hulls  lying  and 
rotting  at  the  bottom  of  the  river. 

As  he  does  not  find  anything  remarkable  down 
at  the  harbour,  he  will  probably  begin  to  look  for 
the  celebrated  Convent  Hill.  He  expects  to  see 
traces  of  the  palisading  and  ramparts  which  in 
olden  days  surrounded  it.  He  is  hoping  to  see 
the  ruins  of  the  high  walls  and  the  long  cloisters. 
He  says  to  himself  that  anyhow  there  must  be 
ruins  of  that  magnificent  church  where  the  cross 
was  kept — that  miracle-working  cross  which  had 
been  brought  from  Jerusalem.  He  thinks  of  the 
number  of  monuments  covering  the  holy  hills 
which  rise  over  other  ancient  cities,  and  his  heart 
begins  to  beat  with  glad  expectation.  But  when 
he  comes  to  the  old  Convent  Hill  which  rises 
above  the  fields,  he  finds  nothing  but  clusters  of 
murmuring  trees  ;  he  finds  neither  walls,  nor  tow- 
ers, nor  gables  perforated  with  pointed  arched 
windows.  Garden  seats  and  benches  he  will  find 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  but  no  cloisters 
decorated  with  pillars,  no  hewn  gravestones. 

Well,  if  he  has  not  found  anything  here,  he  will 
I  138] 


On  the  SITE  of  the  Great  KUNGAHALLA 

in  any  case  try  to  find  the  old  King's  Hall.  He 
thinks  about  the  large  halls  from  which  Kunga- 
halla  is  supposed  to  have  derived  its  name.  It 
might  be  that  there  was  something  left  of  the 
timber — a  yard  thick — that  formed  the  walls,  or 
of  the  deep  cellars  under  the  great  hall  where  the 
Norwegian  kings  celebrated  their  banquets.  He 
thinks  of  the  smooth  green  courtyard  of  the 
King's  Hall,  where  the  kings  used  to  ride  their 
silver-shod  chargers,  and  where  the  queens  used 
to  milk  the  golden-horned  cows.  He  thinks  of 
the  lofty  ladies'  bower ;  of  the  brewing-room,  with 
its  large  boilers ;  of  the  huge  kitchen,  where  half 
an  ox  at  a  time  was  placed  in  the  pot,  and  where  a 
whole  hog  was  roasted  on  the  spit.  He  thinks  of 
the  serfs'  house,  of  the  falcon's  cages,  of  the  great 
pantries — house  by  house  all  round  the  court- 
yard, moss-grown  with  age,  decorated  with 
dragons'  heads.  Of  such  a  number  of  buildings 
there  must  be  some  traces  left,  he  thinks. 

But  should  he  then  inquire  for  the  old  King's 
Hall,  he  will  be  taken  to  a  modern  country-house, 
with  glass  veranda  and  conservatories.  The 
King's  seat  has  vanished,  and  with  it  all  the  drink- 
ing-horns, inlaid  with  silver,  and  the  shields,  cov- 
ered with  skin.  One  cannot  even  show  him  the 
well-kept  courtyard,  with  its  short,  close  grass, 
and  with  narrow  paths  of  black  earth.  He  sees 
strawberry-beds  and  hedges  of  rose-trees;  he 
sees  happy  children  and  young  girls  dancing  un- 
der apple  and  pear  trees.  But  he  does  not  see 
strong  men  wrestling,  or  knights  playing  at  ball. 

Perhaps  he  asks  about  the  great  oak  on  the 
Market  Place,  beneath  which  the  Kings  sat  in 
[139] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

judgment,  and  where  the  twelve  stones  of  judg- 
ment were  set  up.  Or  about  the  long  street, 
which  was  said  to  be  seven  miles  long !  Or  about 
the  rich  merchants'  houses,  separated  by  dark 
lanes,  each  having  its  own  landing-stage  and 
boathouse  down  by  the  river.  Or  about  the 
Marie  Church  in  the  Market  Place,  where  the 
seamen  brought  their  offerings  of  small,  full- 
rigged  ships,  and  the  sorrowful,  small  silver 
hearts. 

But  there  is  nothing  left  to  show  him  of  all 
these  things.  Cows  and  sheep  graze  where  the 
long  street  used  to  be.  Rye  and  barley  grow  on 
the  Market  Place,  and  stables  and  barns  stand 
where  people  used  to  flock  round  the  tempting 
market-stalls. 

How  can  he  help  feeling  disappointed?  Is 
there  not  a  single  thing  to  be  found,  he  says,  not 
a  single  relic  left?  And  he  thinks  perhaps  that 
they  have  been  deceiving  him.  The  great  Kun- 
gahalla  can  never  have  stood  here,  he  says.  It 
must  have  stood  in  some  other  place. 

Then  they  take  him  down  to  the  riverside,  and 
show  him  a  roughly-hewn  stone  block,  and  they 
scrape  away  the  silver-gray  lichen,  so  that  he  can 
see  there  are  some  figures  hewn  in  the  stone.  He 
will  not  be  able  to  understand  what  they  repre- 
sent ;  they  will  be  as  incomprehensible  to  him  as 
the  spots  in  the  moon.  But  they  will  assure  him 
that  they  represent  a  ship  and  an  elk,  and  that 
they  were  cut  in  the  stone  in  the  olden  days 
to  commemorate  the  foundation  of  the  city. 

And  should  he  still  not  be  able  to  understand, 
they  will  tell  him  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  in- 
scription on  the  stone. 

[140] 


The  Forest  Queen 

Marcus  Antonius  Poppius  was  a  Roman 
merchant  of  high  standing.  He  traded  with  dis- 
tant lands ;  and  from  the  harbour  at  Ostia  he 
sent  well-equipped  triremas  to  Spain,  to  Britain, 
and  even  to  the  north  coast  of  Germany.  Fort- 
une favoured  him,  and  he  amassed  immense 
riches,  which  he  hoped  to  leave  as  an  inheritance 
to  his  only  son.  Unfortunately,  this  only  son 
had  not  inherited  his  father's  ability.  This  hap- 
pens, unfortunately,  all  the  world  over.  A  rich 
man's  only  son.  Need  one  say  more?  It  is, 
and  always  will  be,  the  same  story. 

One  would  almost  think  that  the  gods  give  rich 
men  these  incorrigible  idlers,  these  dull,  pale,  lan- 
guid fools  of  sons,  to  show  man  what  unutterable 
folly  it  is  to  amass  riches.  When  will  the  eyes  oi 
mankind  be  opened?  When  will  men  listen  to 
the  warning  voice  of  the  gods  ? 

Young  Silvius  Antonius  Poppius,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  had  already  tried  all  the  pleasures  of  life. 
He  was  also  fond  of  letting  people  see  that  he  was 
tired  of  them  ;  but  in  spite  of  that,  one  did  not  no- 
tice any  diminution  in  the  eagerness  with  which 
he  sought  them.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  quite 
in  despair  when  a  singularly  persistent  ill-luck  be- 
gan to  pursue  him,  and  to  interfere  with  all  his 
pleasures.  His  Numidian  horses  fell  lame  the 
day  before  the  great  chariot  race  of  the  year ;  his 

1 141 J 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

illicit  love  affairs  were  found  out ;  his  cleverest 
cook  died  from  malaria.  This  was  more  than 
enough  to  crush  a  man  whose  strength  had  not 
been  hardened  by  exertion  and  toil.  Young 
Poppius  felt  so  unhappy  that  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  take  his  own  life.  He  seemed  to  think  that  this 
was  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  cheat  the  God 
of  Misfortune  who  pursued  him  and  made  his  life 
a  burden. 

One  can  understand  that  an  unhappy  creature 
commits  suicide  in  order  to  escape  the  persecu- 
tion of  man  ;  but  only  a  fool  like  Silvius  Antonius 
could  think  of  adopting  such  means  to  flee  from 
the  gods.  One  recalls  involuntarily  the  story  oi 
the  man  who,  to  escape  from  the  lion,  sprang  right 
into  its  open  jaws. 

Young  Silvius  was  much  too  effeminate  to 
choose  a  bloody  death.  Neither  had  he  any  in- 
clination to  die  from  a  painful  poison.  After  care- 
ful consideration,  he  resolved  to  die  the  gentle 
death  of  the  waves. 

But  when  he  went  down  to  the  Tiber  to  drown 
himself  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  give  his 
body  to  the  dirty,  sluggish  water  of  the  river. 
For  a  long  time  he  stood  undecided,  staring  into 
the  stream.  Then  he  was  seized  by  the  magic 
charm  which  lies  dreamily  over  a  river.  He  felt 
that  great,  holy  longing  which  fills  these  never- 
resting  wanderers  of  nature  ;  he  would  see  the  sea. 

'  I  will  die  in  the  clear  blue  sea,  through  which 
the  sun's  rays  penetrate  right  to  the  bottom,'  said 
Silvius  Antonius.  '  My  body  shall  rest  upon  a 
couch  of  pink  coral.  The  foamy  waves  which  I 
set  in  motion  when  I  sink  into  the  deep  shall  be 
[  142] 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

snow-white  and  fresh  ;  they  shall  not  be  like  the 
sooty  froth  which  lies  quivering  at  the  river-side.' 

He  immediately  hurried  home,  had  his  horses 
harnessed  and  drove  to  Ostia.  He  knew  that  one 
of  his  father's  ships  was  lying  in  the  harbour 
ready  to  sail.  Young  Poppius  drove  his  horses 
at  a  furious  pace,  and  he  succeeded  in  getting  on 
board  just  as  the  anchor  was  being  weighed.  Of 
course  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  take  any 
baggage  with  him.  He  did  not  even  trouble  to 
ask  the  skipper  for  what  place  the  craft  was 
bound.  To  the  sea  they  were  going,  in  any  case 
— that  was  enough  for  him. 

Nor  was  it  very  long  before  the  young  suicide 
reached  the  goal  of  his  desire.  The  trirema 
passed  the  mouth  of  the  Tiber,  and  the  Mediter- 
ranean lay  before  Silvius  Antonius,  its  sparkling 
waves  bathed  in  sun.  Its  beauty  made  Silvius 
Antonius  believe  in  the  poet's  assertion  that  the 
swelling  ocean  is  but  a  thin  veil  which  covers  the 
most  beautiful  world.  He  felt  bound  to  believe 
that  he  who  boldly  makes  his  way  through  this 
cover  will  immediately  reach  the  sea-god's  palace 
of  pearls.  The  young  man  congratulated  himself 
that  he  had  chosen  this  manner  of  death.  And 
one  could  scarcely  call  it  that ;  it  was  impossible 
to  believe  that  this  beautiful  water  could  kill.  It 
was  only  the  shortest  road  to  a  land  where  pleas- 
ure is  not  a  delusion,  leaving  nothing  but  distaste 
and  loathing.  He  could  only  with  difficulty  sup- 
press his  eagerness.  But  the  whole  deck  was 
full  of  sailors.  Even  Silvius  could  understand 
that  if  he  now  sprang  into  the  sea  the  conse- 
quence would  simply  be  that  one  of  his  father's 
[143] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

sailors  would  quickly  spring  overboard  and  fish 
him  out. 

As  soon  as  the  sails  were  set  and  the  oarsmen 
were  well  in  swing,  the  skipper  came  up  to  him 
and  saluted  him  with  the  greatest  politeness. 

'  You  intend,  then,  to  go  with  me  to  Germany, 
my  Silvius  ? '  he  said.    '  You  do  me  great  honour.' 

Young  Poppius  suddenly  remembered  that 
this  man  used  never  to  return  from  a  voyage  with- 
out bringing  him  some  curious  thing  or  other 
from  the  barbarous  countries  he  had  visited. 
Sometimes  it  was  a  couple  of  pieces  of  wood  with 
which  the  savages  made  fire ;  sometimes  it  was 
the  black  horn  of  an  ox,  which  they  used  as  a 
drinking-vessel ;  sometimes  a  necklace  of  bear's 
teeth,  which  had  been  a  great  chief's  mark  of  dis- 
tinction. 

The  good  man  beamed  with  joy  at  having  his 
master's  son  on  board  his  ship.  He  saw  in  it  a 
new  proof  of  the  wisdom  of  old  Poppius,  in  send- 
ing his  son  to  distant  lands,  instead  of  letting  him 
waste  more  time  amongst  the  efifeminate  young 
Roman  idlers. 

Young  Poppius  did  not  wish  to  undeceive  him. 
He  was  afraid  that  if  he  disclosed  his  intention 
the  skipper  would  at  once  turn  back  with  him. 

'  Verily,  Galenus,'  he  said,  '  I  would  gladly  ac- 
company you  on  this  voyage,  but  I  fear  I  must 
ask  you  to  put  me  ashore  at  Bajae.  I  made  up  my 
mind  too  late.    I  have  neither  clothes  nor  money.' 

But  Galenus  assured  him  that  that  need  was 
soon  remedied.  Was  he  not  upon  his  father's 
well-appointed  vessel?  He  should  not  want  for 
anything — neither    warm    fur    tunic    when    the 

[144I 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

weather  was  cold,  or  light  Syrian  clothing  of  the 
kind  that  seamen  wear  when  they  cruise  in  fair 
weather  in  the  friendly  seas  between  the  islands. 


Three  months  after  their  departure  from  Ostia, 
Galenus's  trirema  rowed  in  amongst  a  cluster  of 
rocky  islands.  Neither  the  skipper  nor  any  of  his 
crew  were  quite  clear  as  to  where  they  really 
were,  but  they  were  glad  to  take  shelter  for  a 
time  from  the  storms  that  raged  on  the  open  sea. 

One  could  almost  think  that  Silvius  Antonius 
was  right  in  his  belief  that  some  deity  persecuted 
him.  No  one  on  the  ship  had  ever  before  ex- 
perienced such  a  voyage.  The  luckless  sailors 
said  to  each  other  that  they  had  not  had  fair 
weather  for  two  days  since  they  left  Ostia.  The 
one  storm  had  followed  upon  the  other.  They 
had  undergone  the  most  terrible  sufferings.  They 
had  suffered  hunger  and  thirst,  whilst  they,  day 
and  night,  exhausted  and  almost  fainting  from 
want  of  sleep,  had  had  to  manage  sails  and  oars. 
The  fact  of  the  seamen  being  unable  to  trade  had 
added  to  their  despondency.  How  could  they 
approach  the  coast  and  display  their  wares  on  the 
shore  to  effect  an  exchange  in  such  weather  ?  On 
the  contrary,  every  time  they  saw  the  coast  ap- 
pear through  the  obstinate  heavy  mist  that  sur- 
rounded them,  they  had  been  compelled  to  put 
out  to  sea  again  for  fear  of  the  foam-decked  rocks. 
One  night,  when  they  struck  on  a  rock,  they  had 
been  obliged  to  throw  the  half  of  their  cargo  into 
the  sea.  And  as  for  the  other  half,  they  dared  not 
think  about  it,  as  they  feared  it  was  completely 
[145] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

spoiled  by  the  breakers  which  had  rolled  over  the 
ship. 

Certain  it  was  that  Silvius  Antonius  had  proved 
himself  not  to  be  lucky  at  sea  either.  Silvius 
Antonius  was  still  living ;  he  had  not  drowned 
himself.  It  is  difficult  to  say  why  he  prolonged  an 
existence  which  could  not  be  of  any  more  pleas- 
ure to  him  now  than  when  he  first  made  up  his 
mind  to  cut  it  short.  Perhaps  he  had  hoped  that 
the  sea  would  have  taken  possession  of  him  with- 
out he  himself  doing  anything  to  bring  it  about. 
Perhaps  his  love  for  the  sea  had  passed  away  dur- 
ing its  bursts  of  anger ;  perhaps  he  had  resolved 
to  die  in  the  opal-green  perfumed  water  of  his 
bath. 

But  had  Galenus  and  his  men  known  why  the 
young  man  had  come  on  board,  they  would  as- 
suredly have  bitterly  complained  that  he  had  not 
carried  out  his  intention,  for  they  were  all  con- 
vinced that  it  was  his  presence  which  had  called 
forth  their  misfortunes.  Many  a  dark  night  Ga- 
lenus had  feared  that  the  sailors  would  throw  him 
into  the  sea.  More  than  one  of  them  related  that 
in  the  terrible  stormy  nights  he  had  seen  dark 
hands  stretching  out  of  the  water,  grasping  after 
the  ship.  And  they  did  not  think  it  was  necessary 
to  cast  lots  to  find  out  who  it  was  that  these  hands 
wanted  to  draw  down  into  the  deep.  Both  the 
skipper  and  the  crew  did  Silvius  Antonius  the 
special  honour  to  think  that  it  was  for  his  sake 
these  storms  rent  the  air  and  scourged  the  sea. 

If  Silvius  during  this  time  had  behaved  like  a 
man,  if  he  had  taken  his  share  of  their  work  and 
anxiety,  then  perhaps  some  of  his  companions 
[146] 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

might  have  had  pity  upon  him  as  a  being  who  had 
brought  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  the  gods.  But 
the  young  man  had  not  understood  how  to  win 
their  sympathy.  He  had  only  thought  of  seeking 
shelter  for  himself  from  the  wind,  and  of  sending 
them  to  fetch  furs  and  rugs  from  the  stores  for  his 
protection  from  the  cold. 

But  for  the  moment  all  complaints  over  his 
presence  had  ceased.  As  soon  as  the  storm  had 
succeeded  in  driving  the  trirema  into  the  quiet 
waters  between  the  islands,  its  rage  was  spent. 
It  behaved  like  a  sheep-dog  that  becomes  silent 
and  keeps  quiet  as  soon  as  it  sees  the  sheep  on  the 
right  way  to  the  fold.  The  heavy  clouds  disap- 
peared from  the  sky  ;  the  sun  shone.  For  the  first 
time  during  the  voyage  the  sailors  felt  the  joys 
of  summer  spreading  over  Nature. 

Upon  these  storm-beaten  men  the  sunshine  and 
the  warmth  had  almost  an  intoxicating  effect. 
Instead  of  longing  for  rest  and  sleep,  they  be- 
came as  merry  as  happy  children  in  the  morning. 
They  expected  they  would  find  a  large  continent 
behind  all  these  rocks  and  boulders.  They  hoped 
to  find  people,  and — who  could  tell? — on  this 
foreign  coast,  which  had  probably  never  before 
been  visited  by  a  Roman  ship,  their  wares  would 
no  doubt  find  a  ready  sale.  In  that  case  they 
might  after  all  do  some  good  business,  and  bring 
back  with  them  skins  of  bear  and  elk,  and  large 
quantities  of  white  wax  and  golden  amber. 

Whilst  the  trirema  slowly  made  its  way  be- 
tween the  rocks,  which  grew  higher  and  higher 
and  richer  with  verdure  and  trees,  the  crew  made 
haste  to  decorate  it  so  that  it  could  attract  the  at- 
[147] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

tention  of  the  barbarians.  The  ship,  which,  even 
without  any  decoration,  was  a  beautiful  specimen 
of  human  handiwork,  soon  rivalled  in  splendour 
the  most  gorgeous  bird.  Recently  tossed  about 
by  storms  and  ravaged  by  tempests,  it  now  bore 
on  its  topmast  a  golden  sceptre  and  sails  striped 
with  purple.  In  the  bows  a  resplendent  figure  of 
Neptune  was  raised,  and  in  the  stern  a  tent  of 
many-coloure'd  silken  carpets.  And  do  not  think 
the  sailors  neglected  to  hang  the  sides  of  the  ship 
with  rugs,  the  fringes  of  which  trailed  in  the 
water,  or  to  wind  the  long  oars  of  the  ship  with 
golden  ribbons.  Neither  did  the  crew  of  the  ship 
wear  the  clothes  they  had  worn  during  the 
voyage,  and  which  the  sea  and  the  storm  had 
done  their  best  to  destroy.  They  arrayed  them- 
selves in  white  garments,  wound  purple  scarves 
round  their  waists,  and  placed  glittering  bands  in 
their  hair. 

Even  Silvius  Antonius  roused  himself  from  his 
apathy.  It  was  as  if  he  was  glad  of  having  at  last 
found  something  to  do  which  he  thoroughly  un- 
derstood. He  was  shaved,  had  his  hair  trimmed, 
and  his  whole  person  rubbed  over  with  fragrant 
scents.  Then  he  put  on  a  flowing  robe,  hung  a 
mantle  over  his  shoulders,  and  chose  from  the 
large  casket  of  jewels  which  Galenus  opened  for 
him  rings  and  bracelets,  necklaces,  and  a  golden 
belt.  When  he  was  ready  he  flung  aside  the  pur- 
ple curtains  of  the  silken  tent,  and  laid  himself  on 
a  couch  in  the  opening  of  the  tent  in  order  to  be 
seen  by  the  people  on  the  shore. 

During  these  preparations  the  sea  became 
narrower  and  narrower,  and  the  sailors  dis- 
[148] 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

covered  that  they  were  entering  the  mouth  oi 
a  river.  The  water  was  fresh,  and  there  was 
land  on  both  sides.  The  trirema  gUded  slowly 
onwards  up  the  sparkling  river.  The  weather 
was  brilliant,  and  the  whole  of  nature  was 
gloriously  peaceful.  And  how  the  magnificent 
merchantman  enlivened  the  great  solitude ! 

On  both  sides  of  the  river  primeval  forests, 
high  and  thick,  met  their  view.  Pine-trees  grew 
right  to  the  water's  edge.  The  river  in  its  eternal 
course  had  washed  away  the  earth  from  the 
roots,  and  the  hearts  of  the  seamen  were  moved 
with  solemn  awe  at  the  sight,  not  only  of  these 
venerable  trees,  but  even  more  by  that  of  the 
naked  roots,  which  resembled  the  mighty  limbs 
of  a  giant.  '  Here,'  they  thought,  *  man  will 
never  succeed  in  planting  corn  ;  here  the  ground 
will  never  be  cleared  for  the  building  of  a  city, 
or  even  a  farmstead.  For  miles  round  the  earth 
is  woven  through  with  this  network  of  roots, 
hard  as  steel.  This  alone  is  sufficient  to  make 
the  dominion  of  the  forest  everlasting  and  un- 
changeable.' 

Along  the  river  the  trees  grew  so  close,  and 
their  branches  were  so  entangled,  that  they 
formed  firm,  impenetrable  walls.  These  walls  of 
prickly  firs  were  so  strong  and  high  that  no  forti- 
fied city  need  wish  for  stronger  defences.  But 
here  and  there  there  was,  all  the  same,  an  opening 
in  this  wall  of  firs.  It  was  the  paths  the  wild 
beasts  had  made  on  their  way  to  the  river  to 
drink.  Through  these  openings  the  strangers 
could  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  interior  of  the  for- 
est. They  had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  In 
[  149] 


From  a  SPFEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

sunless  twilight  there  grew  trees  with  trunks 
of  greater  circumference  than  the  gate-towers  on 
the  walls  of  Rome.  There  was  a  multitude  of 
trees,  fighting  with  each  other  for  light  and  air. 
Trees  strove  and  struggled,  trees  were  crippled 
and  weighed  down  by  other  trees.  Trees  took 
root  in  the  branches  of  other  trees.  Trees  strove 
and  fought  as  if  they  had  been  human  beings. 

But  if  man  or  beast  moved  in  this  world  of 
trees  they  must  have  other  modes  of  making 
their  way  than  those  which  the  Romans  knew, 
for  from  the  ground  right  up  to  the  top  of  the 
forest  was  a  network  of  stiff  bare  branches. 
From  these  branches  fluttered  long  tangles  of 
gray  lichen,  transforming  the  trees  into  weird 
beings  with  hair  and  beard.  And  beneath  them 
the  ground  was  covered  with  rotten  and  rotting 
trunks,  and  one's  feet  would  have  sunk  into  the 
decayed  wood  as  into  melting  snow. 

The  forest  sent  forth  a  fragrance  which  had 
a  drowsy  effect  upon  the  men  on  board  the 
ship.  It  was  the  strong  odour  of  resin  and  wild 
honey  that  blended  with  the  sickly  smell  from 
the  decayed  wood,  and  from  innumerable  gigan- 
tic red  and  yellow  mushrooms. 

There  was  no  doubt  something  awe-inspiring 
in  all  this,  but  it  was  also  elevating  to  see  nature 
in  all  its  power  before  man  had  yet  interfered 
with  its  dominion.  It  was  not  long  before  one 
of  the  sailors  began  to  sing  a  hymn  to  the  God 
of  the  Forest,  and  involuntarily  the  whole  crew 
joined  in.  They  had  quite  given  up  all  thought 
of  meeting  human  beings  in  this  forest-world. 
Their  hearts  were  filled  with  pious  thoughts; 
[150] 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

they  thought  of  the  forest  god  and  his  nymphs. 
They  said  to  themselves  that  when  Pan  was 
driven  from  the  woods  of  Hellas  he  must  have 
taken  refuge  here  in  the  far  north.  With  pious 
songs  they  entered  his  kingdom. 

Every  time  there  was  a  pause  in  the  song 
they  heard  a  gentle  music  from  the  forest.  The 
tops  of  the  fir-trees,  vibrating  in  the  noonday 
heat,  sang  and  played.  The  sailors  often  dis- 
continued, their  song  in  order  to  listen,  if  Pan 
was  not  playing  upon  his  flute. 

The  oarsmen  rowed  slower  and  slower.  The 
sailors  gazed  searchingly  into  the  golden-green 
and  black-violet  water  flowing  under  the  fir- 
trees.  They  peered  between  the  tall  reeds  which 
quivered  and  rustled  in  the  wash  of  the  ship. 
They  were  in  such  a  state  of  expectation  that 
they  started  at  the  sight  of  the  white  water- 
lilies  that  shone  in  the  dark  water  between  the 
reeds. 

And  again  they  sang  the  song,  '  Pan,  thou 
ruler  of  the  forest ! '  They  had  given  up  all 
thoughts  of  trading.  They  felt  that  they  stood 
at  the  entrance  to  the  dwelling  of  the  gods. 
All  earthly  cares  had  left  them.  Then,  all  of 
a  sudden,  at  the  outlet  of  one  of  the  tracks,  there 
stood  an  elk,  a  royal  deer  with  broad  forehead 
and  a  forest  of  antlers  on  its  horns. 

There  was  a  breathless  silence  on  the  trirema. 
They  stemmed  the  oars  to  slacken  speed.  Sil- 
vius  Antonius  arose  from  his  purple  couch. 

All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  elk.  They 
thought  they  could  discern  that  it  carried  some- 
thing on  its  back,  but  the  darkness  of  the  forest 

\  W  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

and  the  drooping  branches  made  it  impossible 
to  see  distinctly. 

The  huge  animal  stood  for  a  long  time  and 
scented  the  air,  with  its  muzzle  turned  towards 
the  trirema.  At  last  it  seemed  to  understand 
that  there  was  no  danger.  It  made  a  step  tow- 
ards the  water.  Behind  the  broad  horns  one 
could  now  discern  more  distinctly  something 
light  and  white.  They  wondered  if  the  elk  car- 
ried on  its  back  a  harvest  of  wild  roses. 

The  crew  gently  plied  their  oars.  The  trirema 
drew  nearer  to  the  animal,  which  gradually 
moved  towards  the  edge  of  the  reeds. 

The  elk  strode  slowly  into  the  water,  put  down 
its  feet  carefully,  so  as  not  to  be  caught  by  the 
roots  at  the  bottom.  Behind  the  horns  one 
could  now  distinctly  see  the  face  of  a  maiden, 
surrounded  by  fair  hair.  The  elk  carried  on  its 
back  one  of  those  nymphs  whom  they  had  been 
expectantly  awaiting,  and  whom  they  felt  sure 
would  be  found  in  this  primeval  world. 

A  holy  enthusiasm  filled  the  men  on  the 
trirema.  One  of  them,  who  hailed  from  Sicily, 
remembered  a  song  which  he  had  heard  in  his 
youth,  when  he  played  on  the  flowery  plains 
around  Syracuse.    He  began  to  sing  softly : 

'  Nymph,  amongst  flowers  born,  Arethusa  by  name, 
Thou  who  in  sheltered  wood  wanders,  white  like  the 
moon.' 

And  when  the  weather-beaten  men  understood 
the  words,  they  tried  to  subdue  the  storm-like 
roar  in  their  voices  in  order  to  sing: 

'Nymph,  amongst  flowers  born,  Arethusa  by  name.' 
[152] 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

They  steered  the  ship  nearer  and  nearer  the 
reeds.  They  did  not  heed  that  it  had  already 
once  or  twice  touched  the  bottom. 

But  the  young  forest  maiden  sat  and  played 
hide-and-seek  between  the  horns.  One  moment 
she  hid  herself,  the  next  she  peeped  out.  She 
did  not  stop  the  elk ;  she  drove  it  further  into 
the  river. 

When  the  elk  had  gone  some  little  distance, 
she  stroked  it  to  make  it  stop.  Then  she  bent 
down  and  gathered  two  or  three  water-lilies. 
The  men  on  the  ship  looked  a  little  foolishly  at 
each  other.  The  nymph  had,  then,  come  solely 
for  the  purpose  of  plucking  the  white  water-lilies 
that  rocked  on  the  waters  of  the  river.  She  had 
not  come  for  the  sake  of  the  Roman  seamen. 

Then  Silvius  Antonius  drew  a  ring  from  off 
his  finger,  sent  up  a  shout  that  made  the  nymph 
look  up,  and  threw  her  the  ring.  She  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  caught  it.  Her  eyes  sparkled. 
She  stretched  out  her  hands  for  more.  Silvius 
Antonius  again  threw  a  ring. 

Then  she  flung  the  water-lilies  back  into  the 
river  and  drove  the  elk  further  into  the  water. 
Now  and  again  she  stopped,  but  then  a  ring 
came  flying  from  Silvius  Antonius,  and  enticed 
her  further. 

All  at  once  she  overcame  her  hesitation.  The 
colour  rose  in  her  cheeks.  She  came  nearer  to 
the  ship  without  it  being  necessary  to  tempt  her. 
The  water  was  already  up  to  the  shoulders  of 
the  elk.  She  came  right  under  the  side  of  the 
vessel. 

The  sailors  hung  over  the  gunwales  to  help 
[153] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  beautiful  nymph,  should  she  wish  to  go  on 
board  the  trirema. 

But  she  saw  only  Silvius  Antonius,  as  he  stood 
there,  decked  with  pearls  and  rings,  and  fair  as 
the  sunrise.  And  when  the  young  Roman  saw 
that  the  eyes  of  the  nymph  were  fastened  upon 
him,  he  leant  over  even  further  than  the  others. 
They  cried  to  him  that  he  should  take  care,  lest 
he  should  lose  his  balance  and  fall  into  the  sea. 
But  this  warning  came  too  late.  It  is  not  known 
whether  the  nymph,  with  a  quick  movement, 
drew  Silvius  Antonius  to  her,  or  how  it  really 
happened,  but  before  anyone  thought  of  grasp- 
ing him,  he  was  overboard. 

All  the  same,  there  was  no  danger  of  Silvius 
Antonius  drowning.  The  nymph  stretched  forth 
her  lovely  arms  and  caught  him  in  them.  He 
hardly  touched  the  surface  of  the  water.  At  the 
same  moment  her  steed  turned,  rushed  through 
the  water,  and  disappeared  in  the  forest.  And 
loudly  rang  the  laugh  of  the  wild  rider  as  she 
carried  off  Silvius  Antonius. 

Galenus  and  his  men  stood  for  a  moment 
horror-stricken.  Then  some  of  the  men  invol- 
untarily threw  of?  their  clothes  to  swim  to  the 
shore  ;  but  Galenus  stopped  them. 

'  Without  doubt  this  is  the  will  of  the  gods,' 
he  said.  '  Now  we  see  the  reason  why  they  have 
brought  Silvius  Antonius  Poppius  through  a 
thousand  storms  to  this  unknown  land.  Let  us 
be  glad  that  we  have  been  an  instrument  in  their 
hands ;  and  let  us  not  seek  to  hinder  their 
will.' 

The  seamen  obediently  took  their  oars  and 
[154] 


The  Forest  QUEEN 

rowed   down   the   river,'  softly  singing  to  their 
even  stroke  the  song  of  Arethusa's  flight. 


When  one  has  finished  this  story,  surely  the 
stranger  must  be  able  to  understand  the  inscrip- 
tion on  the  old  stone.  He  must  be  able  to  see 
both  the  elk  with  its  many-antlered  horns,  and 
the  trirema  with  its  long  oars.  One  does  not 
expect  that  he  shall  be  able  to  see  Silvius  An- 
tonius  Poppius  and  the  beautiful  queen  of  the 
primeval  forest,  for  in  order  to  see  them  he 
must  have  the  e3^es  of  the  relaters  of  fairy-tales 
of  bygone  days.  He  will  understand  that  the 
inscription  hales  from  the  young  Roman  himself, 
and  that  this  also  applies  to  the  whole  of  the 
old  story.  Silvius  Antonius  has  handed  it  down 
to  his  descendants  word  for  word.  He  knew 
that  it  would  gladden  their  hearts  to  know  that 
they  sprang  from  the  world-famed  Romans. 

But  the  stranger,  of  course,  need  not  believe 
that  any  of  Pan's  nymphs  have  wandered  here 
by  the  river's  side.  He  understands  quite  well 
that  a  tribe  of  wild  men  have  wandered  about 
in  the  primeval  forest,  and  that  the  rider  of  the 
elk  was  the  daughter  of  the  King  who  ruled  over 
these  people ;  and  that  the  maiden  who  carried 
off  Silvius  Antonius  would  only  rob  him  of  his 
jewels,  and  that  she  did  not  at  all  think  of  Silvius 
Antonius  himself,  scarcely  knew,  perhaps,  that 
he  was  a  human  being  like  herself.  And  the 
stranger  can  also  understand  that  the  name  of 
Silvius  Antonius  would  have  been  forgotten  long 
ago  in  this  country  had  he  remained  the  fool  he 
[155] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

was.  He  will  hear  how  misfortune  and  want 
roused  the  young  Roman,  so  that  from  being 
the  despised  slave  of  the  wild  men  he  became 
their  King.  It  was  he  who  attacked  the  forest 
with  fire  and  steel.  He  erected  the  first  firmly- 
timbered  house.  He  built  vessels  and  planted 
corn.  He  laid  the  foundation  of  the  power  and 
glory  of  great  Kungahalla. 

And  when  the  stranger  hears  this,  he  looks 
around  the  country  with  a  more  contented 
glance  than  before.  P'or  even  if  the  site  of  the 
city  has  been  turned  into  fields  and  meadows, 
and  even  if  the  river  no  longer  boasts  of  busy 
craft,  still,  this  is  the  ground  that  has  enabled 
him  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  land  of  dreams,  and 
shown  him  visions  of  bygone  days. 


[156I 


SiGRID  StORRADE 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  an  exceedingly 
beautiful  spring.  It  was  the  very  spring  that  the 
Swedish  Queen  Sigrid  Storrade  summoned  the 
Norwegian  King  Olaf  Trygveson  to  meet  her  at 
Kungahalla  in  order  to  settle  about  their  mar- 
riage. 

It  was  strange  that  King  Olaf  would  marry 
Queen  Sigrid ;  for  although  she  was  fair  and 
well-gifted,  she  was  a  wicked  heathen,  whilst 
King  Olaf  was  a  Christian,  who  thought  of 
nothing  but  building  churches  and  compelling 
the  people  to  be  baptized.  But  maybe  the  King 
thought  that  God  the  Almighty  would  convert 
her. 

But  it  was  even  more  strange  that  when  Stor- 
rade had  announced  to  King  Olaf's  messenger 
that  she  would  set  out  for  Kungahalla  as  soon 
as  the  sea  was  no  longer  ice-bound,  spring  should 
come  almost  immediately.  Cold  and  snow  dis- 
appeared at  the  time  when  winter  is  usually  at 
its  height.  And  when  Storrade  made  known 
that  she  would  begin  to  equip  her  ships,  the  ice 
vanished  from  the  fjords,  the  meadows  became 
green,  and  although  it  was  yet  a  long  time  to 
Lady-day,  the  cattle  could  already  be  put  out 
to  grass. 

When  the  Queen  rowed  between  the  rocks  of 
East  Gothland  into  the  Baltic,  she  heard  the 
cuckoo's  song,  although  it  was  so  early  in  the 

(157] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

year  that  one  could  scarcely  expect  to  hear  the 
lark. 

And  great  joy  prevailed  everywhere  whenStor- 
rade  proceeded  on  her  way.  All  the  trolls  who 
had  been  obliged  to  flee  from  Norway  during 
King  Olaf  s  reign  because  they  could  not  bear 
the  sound  of  the  church  bells  came  on  the  rocks 
when  they  saw  Storrade  sailing  past.  They 
pulled  up  young  birch-trees  by  the  roots  and 
waved  them  to  the  Queen,  and  then  they  went 
back  to  their  rocky  dwellings,  where  their  wives 
were  sitting,  full  of  longing  and  anxiety,  and 
said: 

'  Woman,  thou  shalt  not  be  cast  down  any 
longer.  Storrade  is  now  sailing  to  King  Olaf. 
Now  we  shall  soon  return  to  Norway.' 

When  the  Queen  sailed  past  Kullen,  the  Kulla 
troll  came  out  of  his  cave,  and  he  made  the  black 
mountain  open,  so  that  she  saw  the  gold  and 
silver  veins  which  twisted  through  it,  and  it  made 
the  Queen  happy  to  see  his  riches. 

When  Storrade  went  past  the  Holland  rivers, 
the  Nixie  came  down  from  his  waterfall,  swam 
right  out  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  played 
upon  his  harp,  so  that  the  ship  danced  upon  the 
waves. 

When  she  sailed  past  the  Nidinge  rocks,  the 
mermen  lay  there  and  blew  upon  their  seashell 
horns,  and^  made  the  water  splash  in  frothy 
pillars.  And  when  the  wind  was  against  them, 
the  most  loathsome  trolls  came  out  of  the  deep 
to  help  Storrade's  ship  over  the  waves.  Some 
lay  at  the  stern  and  pushed,  others  took  ropes  of 
seaweed  in  their  mouth  and  harnessed  them- 
selves before  the  ship  like  horses. 
[158] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

The  wild  heathen,  whom  King  Olaf  would  not 
allow  to  remain  in  the  country  on  account  of 
their  great  wickedness,  came  rowing  towards  the 
Queen's  ship,  with  sails  furled,  and  with  their 
pole-axes  raised  as  if  for  attack.  But  when  they 
recognised  the  Queen,  they  allowed  her  to  pass 
unhurt,  and  shouted  after  her : 

'  We  empty  a  beaker  to  thy  wedding,  Stor- 
rade.' 

All  the  heathen  who  lived  along  the  coast  laid 
firewood  upon  their  stone  altars,  and  sacrificed 
both  sheep  and  goats  to  the  old  gods,  in  order 
that  they  should  aid  Storrade  in  her  expedition 
to  the  Norwegian  King. 

When  the  Queen  sailed  up  the  northern  river, 
a  mermaid  swam  alongside  the  ship,  stretched 
her  white  arm  out  of  the  water,  and  gave  her  a 
large  clear  pearl. 

'  Wear  this,  Storrade,'  she  said ;  '  then  King 
Olaf  will  be  so  bewitched  by  thy  beauty  that  he 
will  never  be  able  to  forget  thee.' 

When  the  Queen  had  sailed  a  short  distance 
up  the  river,  she  heard  such  a  roar  and  such  a 
rushing  noise  that  she  expected  to  find  a  water- 
fall. The  further  she  proceeded,  the  louder  grew 
the  noise.  But  when  she  rowed  past  the  Golden 
Isle,  and  passed  into  a  broad  bay,  she  saw  at 
the  riverside  the  great  Kungahalla. 

The  town  was  so  large,  that  as  far  as  she  could 
see  up  the  river  there  was  house  after  house,  all 
imposing  and  well  timbered,  with  many  out- 
houses. Narrow  lanes  between  the  gray  wooden 
walls  led  down  to  the  river;  there  were  large 
courtvards  before  the  dwelling-houses,  well-laid 

[  159  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

pathways   went  from   each   house   down  to  its 
boathouse  and  landing-stage. 

Storrade  commanded  her  men  to  row  quite 
slowly.  She  herself  stood  on  the  poop  of  the 
ship  and  looked  towards  the  shore. 

'  Never  before  have  I  seen  the  Uke  of  this,'  she 
said. 

She  now  understood  that  the  roar  she  had 
heard  was  nothing  but  the  noise  of  the  work 
which  went  on  at  Kungahalla  in  the  spring,  when 
the  ships  were  being  made  ready  for  their  long 
cruises.  She  heard  the  smiths  hammering  with 
huge  sledge-hammers,  the  baker's  shovel  clat- 
tered in  the  ovens ;  beams  were  hoisted  on  to 
heavy  lighters  with  much  crashing  noise  ;  young 
men  planed  oars  and  stripped  the  bark  from  the 
trees  which  were  to  be  used  for  masts. 

She  saw  green  courtyards,  where  handmaidens 
were  twining  ropes  for  the  seafaring  men,  and 
where  old  men  sat  mending  the  gray  wadmal 
sails.  She  saw  the  boat-builders  tarring  the  new 
boats.  Enormous  nails  were  driven  into  strong 
oaken  planks.  The  hulls  of  the  ships  were 
hauled  out  of  the  boathouses  to  be  tightened; 
old  ships  were  done  up  with  freshly-painted 
dragon-heads  ;  goods  were  stowed  away  ;  people 
took  a  hurried  leave  of  each  other ;  heavily-filled 
ships'  chests  were  carried  on  board.  Ships  that 
were  ready  to  sail  left  the  shore.  Storrade  saw 
that  the  vessels  rowing  up  the  river  were  heavily 
laden  with  herrings  and  salt,  but  those  making 
for  the  open  sea  were  laden  high  up  the  masts 
with  costly  oak  timber,  hides,  and  skins. 

When  the  Queen  saw  all  this  she  laughed  with 
[i6o] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

joy.  She  thought  that  she  would  wilHngly  marry 
King  Olaf  in  order  to  rule  over  such  a  city. 
Storrade  rowed  up  to  the  King's  Landing-Stage. 
There  King  Olaf  stood  ready  to  receive  her,  and 
when  she  advanced  to  meet  him  he  thought  that 
she  was  the  fairest  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

They  then  proceeded  to  the  King's  Hall,  and 
there  was  great  harmony  and  friendship  between 
them.  When  they  went  to  table  Storrade 
laughed  and  talked  the  whole  time  the  Bishop 
was  saying  grace,  and  the  King  laughed  and 
talked  also,  because  he  saw  that  it  pleased  Stor- 
rade. When  the  meal  was  finished,  and  they  all 
folded  their  hands  to  listen  to  the  Bishop's 
prayer,  Storrade  began  to  tell  the  King  about 
her  riches.  She  continued  doing  this  as  long  as 
the  prayer  lasted,  and  the  King  listened  to  Stor- 
rade, and  not  to  the  Bishop. 

The  King  placed  Storrade  in  the  seat  of 
honour,  whilst  he  sat  at  her  feet ;  and  Storrade 
told  him  how  she  had  caused  two  minor  kings 
to  be  burnt  to  death  for  having  had  the  pre- 
sumption to  woo  her.  The  King  was  glad  at 
hearing  this,  and  thought  that  all  minor  kings 
who  had  the  audacity  to  woo  a  woman  like  Stor- 
rade should  share  the  same  fate. 

When  the  bells  rang  for  Evensong,  the  King 
rose  to  go  to  the  Marie  Church  to  pray,  as  was 
his  wont.  But  then  Storrade  called  for  her  bard, 
and  he  sang  the  lay  of  Brynhild  Budles-dotter, 
who  caused  Sigurd  Fofnersbane  to  be  slain  ;  and 
King  Olaf  did  not  go  to  church,  but  instead  sat 
and  looked  into  Storrade's  radiant  eyes,  under  the 
thick,  black,  arched  eyebrows ;  and  he  under- 
[i6i] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

stood  that  Storrade  was  Brynhild,  and  that  she 
would  kill  him  if  ever  he  forsook  her.  He  also 
thought  that  she  was  no  doubt  a  woman  who 
would  be  willing  to  burn  on  the  pile  with  him. 
And  whilst  the  priests  were  saying  Mass  and 
praying  in  the  Marie  Church  at  Kungahalla, 
King  Olaf  sat  thinking  that  he  would  ride  to 
Valhalla  with  Sigrid  Storrade  before  him  on  the 
horse. 

That  night  the  ferryman  who  conveyed  people 
over  the  Gota  River  was  busier  than  he  had  ever 
been  before.  Time  after  time  he  was  called  to 
the  other  side,  but  when  he  crossed  over  there 
was  never  anybody  to  be  seen.  But  all  the  same 
he  heard  steps  around  him,  and  the  boat  was 
so  full  that  it  was  nearly  sinking.  He  rowed  the 
whole  night  backwards  and  forwards,  and  did 
not  know  what  it  could  all  mean.  But  in  the 
morning  the  whole  shore  was  full  of  small  foot- 
prints, and  in  the  footprints  the  ferryman  found 
small  withered  leaves,  which  on  closer  examina- 
tion proved  to  be  pure  gold,  and  he  understood 
they  were  the  Brownies  and  Dwarfs  who  had 
fled  from  Norway  when  it  became  a  Christian 
country,  and  who  had  now  come  back  again. 
And  the  giant  who  lived  in  the  Fortin  mountain 
right  to  the  east  of  Kungahalla  threw  one  big 
stone  after  the  other  at  the  Marie  Church  the 
whole  night  through ;  and  had  not  the  giant 
been  so  strong  that  all  the  stones  went  too  far 
and  fell  down  at  Hisingen,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  a  great  disaster  would  assuredly  have 
happened. 

Every  morning  King  Olaf  was  in  the  habit 
[  162  ] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

of  going  to  Mass,  but  the  day  Storrade  was  at 
Kungahalla  he  thought  he  had  not  the  time. 
As  soon  as  he  arose,  he  at  once  wanted  to  go 
down  to  the  harbour,  where  her  ship  lay,  in  order 
to  ask  her  if  she  would  drink  the  wedding-cup 
with  him  before  eventide. 

The  Bishop  had  caused  the  bells  to  be  rung 
the  whole  morning,  and  when  the  King  left  the 
King's  Hall,  and  went  across  the  Market  Place, 
the  church  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  beauti- 
ful singing  was  heard  from  within.  But  the  King 
went  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard  anything.  The 
Bishop  ordered  the  bells  to  be  stopped,  the 
singing  ceased,  and  the  candles  were  extin- 
guished. 

It  all  happened  so  suddenly  that  the  King 
involuntarily  stopped  and  looked  towards  the 
church,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  church 
was  more  insignificant  than  he  had  ever  before 
thought.  It  was  smaller  than  the  houses  in  the 
town ;  the  peat  roof  hung  heavily  over  its  low 
walls  without  windows ;  the  door  was  low,  with 
a  small  projecting  roof  covered  with  fir-bark. 

Whilst  the  King  stood  thinking,  a  slender 
young  woman  came  out  of  the  dark  church  door. 
She  wore  a  red  robe  and  a  blue  mantle,  and 
she  bore  in  her  arms  a  child  with  fair  locks.  Her 
dress  was  poor,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  the  King 
that  he  had  never  before  seen  a  more  noble-look- 
ing woman.  She  was  tall,  dignified,  and  fair  of 
face. 

The  King  saw  with  emotion  that  the  young 
woman  pressed  the  child  close  to  her,  and  car- ' 
ried  it  with  such  care,  that  one  could  see  it  was 
[163I 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  most  precious  thing  she  possessed  in  the 
world. 

As  the  woman  stood  in  the  doorway  she  turned 
her  gentle  face  round  and  looked  back,  looked 
into  the  poor,  dark  little  church  with  great  long- 
ing in  look  and  mien.  When  she  again  turned 
round  towards  the  Market  Place  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  But  just  as  she  was  about  to  step 
over  the  threshold  into  the  Market  Place  her 
courage  failed  her.  She  leant  against  the  door- 
posts and  looked  at  the  child  with  a  troubled 
glance,  as  if  to  say : 

'  Where  in  all  the  wide  world  shall  we  find  a 
roof  over  our  heads?' 

The  King  stood  immovable,  and  looked  at  the 
homeless  woman.  What  touched  him  the  most 
was  to  see  the  child,  who  lay  in  her  arms  free  from 
sorrow,  stretch  out  his  hand  with  a  flower  tow- 
ards her,  as  if  to  win  a  smile  from  her.  And 
then  he  saw  she  tried  to  drive  away  the  sorrow 
from  her  face  and  smile  at  her  son. 

'  Who  can  that  woman  be  ? '  thought  the  King. 
'  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  seen  her  before. 
She  is  undoubtedly  a  high-born  woman  who  is 
in  trouble.' 

However  great  a  hurry  the  King  was  in  to 
go  to  Storrade,  he  could  not  take  his  eyes  away 
from  the  woman.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
seen  these  tender  eyes  and  this  gentle  face  be- 
fore, but  where,  he  could  not  call  to  mind.  The 
woman  still  stood  in  the  church  door,  as  if  she 
could  not  tear  herself  away.  Then  the  King 
went  up  to  her  and  asked : 

*  Why  art  thou  so  sorrowful  ? ' 
[  164  ] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

'  I  am  turned  out  of  my  home,'  answered  the 
woman,  pointing  to  the  little  dark  church. 

The  King  thought  she  meant  that  she  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  church  because  she  had  no 
other  place  to  go  to.     He  again  asked: 

'  Who  hath  turned  thee  out  ? ' 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  unutterably  sor- 
rowful glance. 

'  Dost  thou  not  know  ? '  she  asked. 

But  then  the  King  turned  away  from  her.  He 
had  no  time  to  stand  guessing  riddles,  he 
thought.  It  appeared  as  if  the  woman  meant 
that  it  was  he  who  had  turned  her  out.  He  did 
not  understand  what  she  could  mean. 

The  King  went  on  quickly.  He  went  down  to 
the  King's  Landing-Stage,  where  Storrade's 
ship  was  lying.  At  the  harbour  the  Queen's 
servants  met  the  King.  Their  clothes  were 
braided  with  gold,  and  they  wore  silver  helmets 
on  their  heads. 

Storrade  stood  on  her  ship  looking  towards 
Kungahalla,  rejoicing  in  its  power  and  wealth. 
She  looked  at  the  city  as  if  she  already  regarded 
herself  as  its  Queen.  But  when  the  King  saw 
Storrade,  he  thought  at  once  of  the  gentle 
woman  who,  poor  and  sorrowful,  had  been 
turned  out  of  the  church. 

*  What  is  this?  '  he  thought.  '  It  seems  to  me 
as  if  she  were  fairer  than  Storrade.' 

When  Storrade  greeted  him  with  smiles,  he 
thought  of  the  tears  that  sparkled  in  the  eyes  of 
the  other  woman.  The  face  of  the  strange 
woman  was  so  clear  to  King  Olaf  that  he  could 
not  help  comparing  it,  feature  for  feature,  with 
[165] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Storrade's.  And  when  he  did  that  all  Storrade's 
beauty  vanished.  He  saw  that  Storrade's  eyes 
were  cruel  and  her  mouth  sensual.  In  each  of 
her  features  he  saw  a  sin.  He  could  still  see 
she  was  beautiful,  but  he  no  longer  took  pleas- 
ure in  her  countenance.  He  began  to  loathe  her 
as  if  she  were  a  beautiful  poisonous  snake. 

When  the  Queen  saw  the  King  come  a  vic- 
torious smile  passed  over  her  lips. 

'  I  did  not  expect  thee  so  early,  King  Olaf,' 
she  said.     '  I  thought  thou  wast  at  Mass.' 

The  King  felt  an  irresistible  inclination  to  con- 
tradict Storrade,  and  do  everything  she  did  not 
want. 

'  Mass  has  not  yet  begun,'  he  said.  '  I  have 
come  to  ask  thee  to  go  with  me  to  the  house  of 
my  God.' 

When  the  King  said  this  he  saw  an  angry  look 
in  Storrade's  eyes,  but  she  continued  to  smile. 

*  Rather  come  to  me  on  my  ship,'  she  said, 
*  and  I  will  show  thee  the  presents  I  have 
brought  for  thee.' 

She  took  up  a  sword  inlaid  with  gold,  as  if  to 
tempt  him ;  but  the  King  thought  all  the 
time  that  he  could  see  the  other  woman  at  her 
side,  and  it  appeared  to  him  that  Storrade  stood 
amongst  her  treasures  like  a  foul  dragon. 

'  Answer  me  first,'  said  the  King,  '  if  thou  wilt 
go  with  me  to  church.' 

'  What  have  I  to  do  in  thy  church  ? '  she  asked 
mockingly. 

Then  she  saw  that  the  King's  brow  darkened, 
and  she  perceived  that  he  was  not  of  the  same 
mind  as  the  day  before.  She  immediately 
[  166  ] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

changed  her  manner,  and  became   gentle   and 
submissive. 

'  Go  thou  to  church  as  much  as  thou  Hkest, 
even  if  I  do  not  go.  There  shall  be  no  discord 
between  us  on  that  account.' 

The  Queen  came  down  from  the  ship  and  went 
up  to  the  King.  She  held  in  her  hand  a  sword 
and  a  mantle  trimmed  with  fur  which  she  would 
give  him.  But  in  the  same  moment  the  King 
happened  to  look  towards  the  harbour.  At  some 
distance  he  saw  the  other  woman ;  her  head 
was  bowed,  and  she  walked  with  weary  steps, 
but  she  still  bore  the  child  in  her  arms. 

'  What  art  thou  looking  so  eagerly  after,  King 
Olaf  ?  '  Storrade  asked. 

Then  the  other  woman  turned  round  and 
looked  at  the  King,  and  as  she  looked  at  him 
it  appeared  to  him  as  if  a  ring  of  golden  light 
surrounded  her  head  and  that  of  the  child,  more 
beautiful  than  the  crown  of  any  King  or  Queen. 
Then  she  immediately  turned  round  and  walked 
again  towards  the  town,  and  he  saw  her  no  more. 

'What  art  thou  looking  so  eagerly  after?' 
again  asked  Storrade. 

But  when  King  Olaf  now  turned  to  the  Queen 
she  appeared  to  him  old  and  ugly,  and  full  of 
the  world's  sin  and  wickedness,  and  he  was  ter- 
rified at  the  thought  that  he  might  have  fallen 
into  her  snares. 

He  had  taken  off  his  glove  to  give  her  his 
hand ;  but  he  now  took  the  glove  and  threw  it 
in  her  face  instead. 

'  I  will  not  own  thee,  foul  woman  and  heathen 
dog  that  thou  art !  '  he  said. 
[167] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Then  Storrade  drew  backwards.  But  she  soon 
regained  the  command  over  herself,  and  an- 
swered : 

'  That  blow  may  prove  thy  destruction,  King 
Olaf  Trygveson.' 

And  she  was  white  as  Hel  when  she  turned 
away  from  him  and  went  on  board  her  ship. 

Next  night  King  Olaf  had  a  strange  dream. 
What  he  saw  in  his  dream  was  not  the  earth,  but 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  It  was  a  grayish-green 
field,  over  which  there  were  many  fathoms  of 
water.  He  saw  fish  swimming  after  their  prey ; 
he  saw  ships  gliding  past  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  like  dark  clouds ;  and  he  saw  the  disc  of 
the  sun,  dull  as  a  pale  moon. 

Then  he  saw  the  woman  he  had  seen  at  the 
church-door  wandering  along  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  She  had  the  same  stooping  gait  and  the 
same  worn  garments  as  when  he  first  saw  her, 
and  her  face  was  still  sorrowful.  But  as  she 
wandered  along  the  bottom  of  the  sea  the  water 
divided  before  her.  He  saw  that  it  rose  into 
pillars,  as  if  in  deep  reverence,  forming  itself  into 
arches,  so  that  she  walked  in  the  most  glorious 
temple. 

Suddenly  the  King  saw  that  the  water  which 
surrounded  the  woman  began  to  change  colour. 
The  pillars  and  the  arches  first  became  pale  pink ; 
but  they  soon  assumed  a  darker  colour.  The 
whole  sea  around  was  also  red,  as  if  it  had  been 
changed  into  blood. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  where  the  woman 
walked,  the  King  saw  broken  swords  and 
[i68] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

arrows,  and  bows  and  spears  in  pieces.  At  first 
there  were  not  many,  but  the  longer  she 
walked  in  the  red  water  the  more  closely  they 
were  heaped  together. 

The  King  saw  with  emotion  that  the  woman 
went  to  one  side  in  order  not  to  tread  upon  a 
dead  man  who  lay  stretched  upon  the  bed  of 
green  seaweed.  The  man,  who  had  a  deep  cut 
in  his  head,  wore  a  coat  of  mail,  and  had  a  sword 
in  his  hand.  It  seemed  to  the  King  that  the 
woman  closed  her  eyes  so  as  not  to  see  the  dead 
man.  She  moved  towards  a  fixed  goal  without 
hesitation  or  doubt.  But  he  who  dreamt  could 
not  turn  his  eyes  away. 

He  saw  the  bottom  of  the  sea  covered  with 
wreckage.  He  saw  heavy  anchors,  thick  ropes 
twined  about  like  snakes,  ships  with  their  sides 
riven  asunder;  golden  dragon-heads  from  the 
bows  of  ships  stared  at  him  with  red,  threaten- 
ing eyes. 

*  I  should  like  to  know  who  has  fought  a  battle 
here  and  left  all  this  as  a  prey  to  destruction,' 
thought  the  dreamer. 

Everywhere  he  saw  dead  men.  They  were 
hanging  on  the  ships'  sides,  or  had  sunk  into 
the  green  seaweed.  But  he  did  not  give  himself 
time  to  look  at  them,  for  his  eyes  were  obliged 
to  follow  the  woman,  who  continued  to  walk  on- 
wards. 

At  last  the  King  saw  her  stop  at  the  side  of 
a  dead  man.  He  was  clothed  in  a  red  mantle, 
had  a  bright  helmet  on  his  head,  a  shield  on  his 
arm,  and  a  naked  sword  in  his  hand. 

The  woman  bent  over  him  and  whispered  to 
him,  as  if  awaking  someone  sleeping: 
[169] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'King  Olaf!    King  Olaf! ' 

Then  he  who  was  dreaming  saw  that  the  man 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  was  himself.  He  could 
distinctly  see  that  he  was  the  dead  man. 

As  the  dead  did  not  move,  the  woman  knelt 
by  his  side  and  whispered  into  his  ear: 

'  Now  Storrade  hath  sent  her  fleet  against  thee 
and  avenged  herself.  Dost  thou  repent  what 
thou  hast  done,  King  Olaf?' 

And  again  she  asked : 

'  Now  thou  sufiferest  the  bitterness  of  death 
because  thou  hast  chosen  me  instead  of  Storrade. 
Dost  thou  repent?    dost  thou  repent?' 

Then  at  last  the  dead  opened  his  eyes,  and  the 
woman  helped  him  to  rise.  He  leant  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  she  walked  slowly  away  with  him. 

Again  King  Olaf  saw  her  wander  and  wander, 
through  night  and  day,  over  sea  and  land.  At 
last  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  had  gone  further 
than  the  clouds  and  higher  than  the  stars.  Now 
they  entered  a  garden,  where  the  earth  shone 
as  light  and  the  flowers  were  clear  as  dewdrops. 

The  King  saw  that  when  the  woman  entered 
the  garden  she  raised  her  head,  and  her  step  grew 
lighter.  When  they  had  gone  a  little  further  into 
the  garden  her  garments  began  to  shine.  He 
saw  that  they  became,  as  of  themselves,  bor- 
dered with  golden  braid,  and  coloured  with  the 
hues  of  the  rainbow.  He  saw  also  that  a  halo 
surrounded  her  head  that  cast  a  light  over  her 
countenance. 

But  the  slain  man  who  leant  upon  her  shoulder 
raised  his  head,  and  asked : 

'  Who  art  thou  ?  ' 

[170] 


SIGRID  STORRADE 

'Dost  thou  not  know,  King  Olaf?'  she  an- 
swered ;  and  an  infinite  majesty  and  glory 
encompassed  her. 

But  in  the  dream  King  Olaf  was  filled  with 
a  great  joy  because  he  had  chosen  to  serve  the 
gentle  Queen  of  Heaven.  It  was  a  joy  so  great 
that  he  had  never  before  felt  the  like  of  it,  and  it 
was  so  strong  that  it  awoke  him. 

When  King  Olaf  awoke  his  face  was  bathed 
in  tears,  and  he  lay  with  his  hands  folded  in 
prayer. 


I171I 


ASTRID 


I 

In  the  midst  of  the  low  buildings  forming  the 
old  Castle  of  the  Kings  at  Upsala  towered  the 
Ladies'  Bower.  It  was  built  on  poles,  like 
a  dovecote.  The  staircase  leading  up  to  it  was 
as  steep  as  a  ladder,  and  one  entered  it  by  a  very 
low  door.  The  walls  inside  were  covered  with 
runes,  signifying  love  and  longing;  the  sills  of 
the  small  loopholes  were  worn  by  the  maidens 
leaning  on  their  elbows  and  looking  down  into 
the  courtyard. 

Old  Hjalte,  the  bard,  had  been  a  guest  at  the 
King's  Castle  for  some  time,  and  he  went  up 
every  day  to  the  Ladies'  Bower  to  see  Princess 
Ingegerd,  and  talk  with  her  about  Olaf  Haralds- 
son,  the  King  of  Norway,  and  every  time  Hjalte 
came  Ingegerd's  bondwoman  Astrid  sat  and  lis- 
tened to  his  words  with  as  much  pleasure  as  the 
Princess.  And  whilst  Hjalte  talked,  both  the 
maidens  listened  so  eagerly  that  they  let  their 
hands  fall  in  their  laps  and  their  work  rest. 

Anyone  seeing  them  would  not  think  much 
spinning  or  weaving  could  be  done  in  the 
Ladies'  Bower.  No  one  would  have  thought 
that  they  gathered  all  Hjalte's  words  as  if  they 
were  silken  threads,  and  that  each  of  his  listeners 
made  from  them  her  own  picture  of  King  Olaf. 
[  172] 


ASTRID 

No  one  could  know  that  in  their  thoughts  they 
wove  the  Bard's  words  each  into  her  own  radiant 
picture. 

But  so  it  was.  And  the  Princess's  picture  was 
so  beautiful  that  every  time  she  saw  it  before 
her  she  felt  as  if  she  must  fall  on  her  knees  and 
worship  it.  For  she  saw  the  King-  sitting  on 
his  throne,  crowned  and  great ;  she  saw  a  red, 
gold-embroidered  mantle  hanging  from  his 
shoulders  to  his  feet.  She  saw  no  sword  in  his 
hand,  but  holy  writings;  and  she  also  saw  that 
his  throne  was  supported  by  a  chained  troll. 
His  face  shone  for  her,  white  like  wax,  sur- 
rounded by  long,  soft  locks,  and  his  eyes  beamed 
with  piety  and  peace.  Oh,  she  became  nearly 
afraid  when  she  saw  the  almost  superhuman 
strength  that  shone  from  that  pale  face.  She 
understood  that  King  Olaf  was  not  only  a  King, 
she  saw  that  he  was  a  saint,  and  the  equal  of  the 
angels. 

But  quite  different  was  the  picture  which 
Astrid  had  made  of  the  King.  The  fair-haired 
bondwoman,  who  had  experienced  both  hunger 
and  cold  and  suffered  much  hardship,  but  who 
all  the  same  was  the  one  who  filled  the  Ladies' 
Bower  with  merriment  and  laughter,  had  in  her 
mind  an  entirely  different  picture  of  the  King. 
She  could  not  help  that  every  time  she  heard 
him  spoken  about  she  saw  before  her  the  wood- 
cutter's son  who  at  eventide  came  out  of  the 
wood  with  the  axe  over  his  shoulder. 

'  I  can  see  thee — I  can  see  thee  so  well,' 
Astrid  said  to  the  picture,  as  if  it  were  a  living 
being.    '  Tall  thou  art  not,  but  broad  of  shoulders 

[173] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

and  light  and  agile,  and  because  thou  hast 
walked  about  in  the  dark  forest  the  whole  long 
summer  day  thou  takest  the  last  few  steps  in 
one  spring,  and  laughest  when  thou  reachest 
the  road.  Then  thy  white  teeth  shine,  and  thy 
hair  flies  about,  and  that  I  love  to  see.  I  can 
see  thee ;  thou  hast  a  fair,  ruddy  face  and  freckles 
on  thy  nose,  and  thou  hast  blue  eyes,  which  be- 
come dark  and  stern  in  the  deep  forest ;  but 
when  thou  comest  so  far  that  thou  seest  the 
valley  and  thy  home,  they  become  light  and 
gentle.  As  soon  as  thou  seest  thine  own  hut 
down  in  the  valley,  thou  raisest  thy  cap  for  a 
greeting,  and  then  I  see  thy  forehead.  Is  not 
that  forehead  befitting  a  King?  Should  not  that 
broad  forehead  be  able  to  wear  both  crown  and 
helmet  ?  ' 

But  however  different  these  two  pictures  were, 
one  thing  is  certain :  just  as  much  as  the  Prin- 
cess loved  the  holy  picture  she  had  conjured 
forth,  so  did  the  poor  bondwoman  love  the  bold 
swain  whom  she  saw  coming  from  the  depths  of 
the  forest  to  meet  her. 

And  had  Hjalte  the  Bard  been  able  to  see 
these  pictures  he  would  have  assuredly  praised 
them  both.  He  would  assuredly  have  said  that 
they  both  were  like  the  King.  For  that  is  King 
Olaf's  good  fortune,  he  would  have  been  sure  to 
say,  that  he  is  a  fresh  and  merry  swain  at  the 
same  time  that  he  is  God's  holy  warrior.  For 
old  Hjalte  loved  King  Olaf,  and  although  he 
had  wandered  from  court  to  court  he  had  never 
been  able  to  find  his  equal. 

*  Where  can  I  find  anvone  to  make  me  forget 
[174] 


ASTRID 

Olaf  Haraldsson  ?  '  he  was  wont  to  say.  '  Where 
shall  I  find  a  greater  hero?' 

Hjalte  the  Bard  was  a  rough  old  man  and 
severe  of  countenance.  Old  as  he  was,  his  hair 
was  still  black,  he  was  dark  of  complexion,  and 
his  eyes  were  keen,  and  his  song  had  always 
talUed  with  his  appearance.  His  tongue  never 
uttered  other  words  than  those  of  strife ;  he  had 
never  made  other  lays  than  songs  of  war. 

Old  Hjalte's  heart  had  hitherto  been  like  the 
stony  waste  outside  the  wood-cutter's  hut ;  it  had 
been  like  a  rocky  plain,  where  only  poor  ferns 
and  dry  mugworts  could  grow.  But  now 
Hjalte's  roving  life  had  brought  him  to  the 
Court  at  Upsala,  and  he  had  seen  the  Princess 
Ingegerd.  He  had  seen  that  she  was  the  noblest 
of  all  the  women  he  had  met  in  his  Hfe — in  truth, 
the  Princess  was  just  as  much  fairer  than  all 
other  women  as  King  Olaf  was  greater  than  all 
other  men. 

Then  the  thought  suddenly  arose  within 
Hjalte  that  he  would  try  to  awaken  love  be- 
tween the  Swedish  Princess  and  the  Norwegian 
King.  He  asked  himself  why  she,  who  was  the 
best  amongst  women,  should  not  be  able  to  love 
King  Olaf,  the  most  glorious  amongst  men? 
And  after  that  thought  had  taken  root  in  Hjalte's 
heart  he  gave  up  making  his  stern  war-songs. 
He  gave  up  trying  to  win  praise  and  honour 
from  the  rough  warriors  at  the  Court  of  Upsala, 
and  sat  for  many  hours  with  the  women  in  the 
Ladies'  Bower,  and  one  would  never  have 
thought  that  it  was  Hjalte  who  spoke.  One 
would  never  have  believed  that  he  possessed 
[175  1 


^rom  a  SWEDtSH  HOMESTEAD 

such  soft  and  fair  and  gentle  words  which  he 
now  used  in  speaking  about  King  Olaf. 

No  one  would  have  known  Hjalte  again;  he 
was  entirely  transformed  ever  since  the  thought 
of  the  marriage  had  arisen  within  him.  When 
the  beautiful  thought  took  root  in  Hjalte's  soul, 
it  was  as  if  a  blushing  rose,  with  soft  and  fra- 
grant petals,  had  sprung  up  in  the  midst  of  a 
wilderness. 


One  day  Hjalte  sat  with  the  Princess  in  the 
Ladies'  Bower.  All  the  maidens  were  absent 
except  Astrid.  Hjalte  thought  that  now  he  had 
spoken  long  enough  about  Olaf  Haraldsson. 
He  had  said  all  the  fair  words  he  could  about 
him,  but  had  it  been  of  any  avail?  What  did 
the  Princess  think  of  the  King?  Then  he  began 
to  lay  snares  for  the  Princess  to  find  out  what 
she  thought  of  King  Olaf. 

'  I  can  see  from  a  look  or  a  blush,'  he  thought. 

But  the  Princess  was  a  high-born  lady ;  she 
knew  how  to  conceal  her  thoughts.  She  neither 
blushed  nor  smiled,  neither  did  her  eyes  betray 
her.  She  would  not  let  Hjalte  divine  what  she 
thought. 

When  the  Bard  looked  into  her  noble  face  he 
was  ashamed  of  himself. 

'  She  is  too  good  for  anyone  to  take  her  by 
stealth,'  he  said ;  *  one  must  meet  her  in  open 
warfare.'  So  Hjalte  said  straight  out :  '  Daugh- 
ter of  a  King,  if  Olaf  Haraldsson  asked  thee  in 
marriage  of  thy  father,  what  wouldst  thou  an- 
swer ? ' 

[176] 


ASTRID 

Then  the  young-  Princess's  face  lit  up,  as  does 
the  face  of  a  man  when  he  reaches  the  mountain- 
top  and  discovers  the  ocean.  Without  hesitation 
she  repHed  at  once : 

'  If  he  be  such  a  King  and  such  a  Christian  as 
thou  sayest,  Hjahe,  then  I  consider  it  would  be 
a  great  happiness.' 

But  scarcely  had  she  said  this  before  the  light 
faded  from  her  eyes.  It  was  as  if  a  cloud  rose 
between  her  and  the  beautiful  far-off  vision. 

'  Oh,  Hjalte,'  she  said,  '  thou  forgettest  one 
thing.  King  Olaf  is  our  enemy.  It  is  war  and 
not  wooing  we  may  expect  from  him.' 

'  Do  not  let  that  trouble  thee,'  said  Hjalte. 
'  If  thou  only  wilt,  all  is  well.  I  know  King 
Olaf's  mind  in  this  matter.' 

The  Bard  was  so  glad  that  he  laughed  when 
he  said  this ;  but  the  Princess  grew  more  and 
more  sorrowful. 

'  No,'  she  said,  '  neither  upon  me  nor  King 
Olaf  does  it  depend,  but  upon  my  father,  Oluf 
Skotkonung,  and  you  know  that  he  hates  Olaf 
Haraldsson,  and  cannot  bear  that  anyone  should 
even  mention  his  name.  Never  will  he  let  me 
leave  my  father's  house  with  an  enemy;  never 
will  he  give  his  daughter  to  Olaf  Haraldsson.' 

When  the  Princess  had  said  this,  she  laid  aside 
all  her  pride  and  began  to  lament  her  fate. 

'  Of  what  good  is  it  that  I  have  now  learnt  to 
know  Olaf  Haraldsson,'  she  said,  '  that  I  dream 
of  him  every  night,  and  long  for  him  every  day? 
Would  it  not  have  been  better  if  thou  hadst 
never  come  hither  and  told  me  about  him?  ' 

When  the  Princess  had  spoken  these  words, 
[  177] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

her  eyes  filled  with  tears ;  but  when  Hjalte  saw 
her  tears,  he  lifted  his  hand  fervent  and  eager. 

*  God  wills  it,'  he  cried.  '  Ye  belong  to  one 
another.  Strife  must  exchange  its  red  mantle 
for  the  white  robe  of  peace,  that  your  happiness 
may  give  joy  unto  the  earth.' 

When  Hjalte  had  said  this,  the  Princess  bowed 
her  head  before  God's  holy  name,  and  when  she 
raised  it,  it  was  with  a  newly  awakened  hope. 


When  old  Hjalte  stepped  through  the  low  door 
of  the  Ladies'  Bower,  and  went  down  the  nar- 
row open  corridor,  Astrid  followed  him. 

'  Hjalte,'  she  cried,  '  why  dost  thou  not  ask 
me  what  I  would  answer  if  Olaf  Haraldsson 
asked  for  my  hand?  ' 

It  was  the  first  time  Astrid  had  spoken  to 
Hjalte ;  but  Hjalte  only  cast  a  hurried  glance 
at  the  fair  bondwoman,  whose  golden  hair  curled 
on  her  temples  and  neck,  who  had  the  broadest 
bracelets  and  the  heaviest  ear-rings,  whose  dress 
was  fastened  with  silken  cords,  and  whose  bodice 
was  so  embroidered  with  pearls  that  it  was  as 
stiff  as  armour,  and  went  on  without  answering. 

'  Why  dost  thou  only  ask  Princess  Ingegerd  ?  ' 
continued  Astrid.  '  Why  dost  thou  not  also  ask 
me?  Dost  thou  not  know  that  I,  too,  am  the 
Svea-King's  daughter?  Dost  thou  not  know,' 
she  continued,  when  Hjalte  did  not  answer,  *  that 
although  my  mother  was  a  bondwoman,  she  was 
the  bride  of  the  King's  youth  ?  Dost  thou  not 
know  that  whilst  she  lived  no  one  dared  to  re- 
mind her  of  her  birth?  Oh,  Hjalte,  dost  thou 
[178] 


ASTRID 

not  know  that  it  was  only  after  she  was  dead, 
when  the  King  had  taken  to  himself  a  Queen, 
that  everyone  remembered  that  she  was  a  bond- 
woman? It  was  first  after  I  had  a  stepmother 
that  the  King  began  to  think  I  was  not  of  free 
birth.  But  am  I  not  a  King's  daughter,  Hjalte, 
even  if  my  father  counts  me  for  so  little,  that  he 
has  allowed  me  to  fall  into  bondage  ?  Am  I  not 
a  King's  daughter,  even  if  my  stepmother  al- 
lowed me  to  go  in  rags,  whilst  my  sister  went 
in  cloth  of  gold  ?  Am  I  not  a  King's  daughter, 
even  if  my  stepmother  has  allowed  me  to  tend  the 
geese  and  taste  the  whip  of  the  slave  ?  And  if  I 
am  a  King's  daughter,  why  dost  thou  not  ask 
me  whether  I  will  wed  Olaf  Haraldsson?  See,  I 
have  golden  hair  that  shines  round  my  head  like 
the  sun.  See,  I  have  sparkling  eyes ;  I  have 
roses  in  my  cheeks.  Why  should  not  King  Olaf 
woo  me? ' 

She  followed  Hjalte  across  the  courtyard  all 
the  way  to  the  King's  Hall ;  but  Hjalte  took  no 
more  heed  of  her  words  than  a  warrior  clad  in 
armour  heeds  a  boy  throwing  stones.  He  took 
no  more  notice  of  her  words  than  if  she  had 
been  a  chattering  magpie  in  the  top  of  a  tree. 


No  one  must  think  that  Hjalte  contented  him- 
self with  having  won  Ingegerd  for  his  King. 
The  next  day  the  old  Icelander  summoned  up  his 
courage  and  spoke  to  Oluf  Skotkonung  about 
Olaf  Haraldsson.  But  he  hardly  had  time  to 
say  a  word  ;  the  King  interrupted  him  as  soon  as 
he  mentioned  the  name  of  his  foe.  Hjalte  saw 
[  179] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

that  the  Princess  was  right.  He  thought  he  had 
never  before  seen  such  bitter  hatred. 

'  But  that  marriage  will  take  place  all  the 
same,'  said  Hjalte.  '  It  is  the  will  of  God — the 
will  of  God.' 

And  it  really  seemed  as  if  Hjalte  were  right. 
Two  or  three  days  later  a  messenger  came  from 
King  Olaf  of  Norway  to  make  peace  with  the 
Swedes.  Hjalte  sought  the  messenger,  and  told 
him  that  peace  between  the  two  countries  could 
be  most  firmly  established  by  a  marriage  taking 
place  between  Princess  Ingegerd  and  Olaf  Har- 
aldsson. 

The  King's  messenger  hardly  thought  that  old 
Hjalte  was  the  man  to  incline  a  young  maiden's 
heart  to  a  stranger;  but  he  thought,  all  the  same, 
that  the  plan  was  a  good  one ;  and  he  promised 
Hjalte  that  he  would  lay  the  proposal  of  the 
marriage  before  King  Oluf  Skotkonung  at  the 
great  Winter  Ting. 

Imme.diately  afterwards  Hjalte  left  Upsala. 
He  went  from  farm  to  farm  on  the  great  plain ; 
he  went  far  into  the  forests ;  he  went  even  to  the 
borders  of  the  sea.  He  never  met  either  man  or 
woman  without  speaking  to  them  about  Olaf 
Haraldsson  and  Princess  Ingegerd.  '  Hast  thou 
ever  heard  of  a  greater  man  or  of  a  fairer 
woman?'  he  said.  'It  is  assuredly  the  will  of 
God  that  they  shall  wander  through  life  to- 
gether.' 

Hjalte  came  upon  old  Vikings,  who  wintered 

at  the  seashore,  and  who  had  formerly  carried 

of^  women  from  every  coast.    He  talked  to  them 

about  the  beautiful  Princess  until  they  sprang 

[  i8o  ] 


ASTRID 

up  and  promised  him,  with  their  hand  on  the 
hilt  of  their  sword,  that  they  would  do  what  they 
could  to  help  her  to  happiness. 

Hjalte  went  to  stubborn  old  peasants  who 
had  never  listened  to  the  prayers  of  their  own 
daughters,  but  had  given  them  in  marriage  as 
shrewdness,  family  honour,  and  advantage  re- 
quired, and  he  spoke  to  them  so  wisely  about  the 
peace  between  the  two  countries  and  the  mar- 
riage that  they  swore  they  would  rather  deprive 
the  King  of  his  kingdom  than  that  this  marriage 
should  not  come  to  pass. 

But  to  the  young  women  Hjalte  spoke  so 
many  good  words  about  Olaf  Haraldsson  that 
they  vowed  they  would  never  look  with  kindly 
eyes  at  the  swain  who  did  not  stand  by  the  Nor- 
wegian King's  messenger  at  the  Ting  and  help 
to  break  down  the  King's  opposition. 

Thus  Hjalte  went  about  talking  to  people  until 
the  Winter  Ting  should  assemble,  and  all  the 
people,  along  snow-covered  roads,  proceeded  to 
the  great  Ting  Hills  at  Upsala. 

When  the  Ting  was  opened,  the  eagerness  of 
the  people  was  so  great  that  it  seemed  as  if  the 
stars  would  fall  down  from  the  sky  were  this 
marriage  not  decided  upon.  And  although  the 
King  twice  roughly  said  '  No  '  both  to  the  peace 
and  to  the  wooing,  it  was  of  no  avail.  It  was 
of  no  avail  that  he  would  not  hear  the  name  of 
King  Olaf  mentioned.  The  people  only  shouted: 
'  We  will  not  have  war  with  Norway.  We  will 
that  these  two,  who  by  all  are  accounted  the 
greatest,  shall  wander  through  life  together.' 

What  could  old  Oluf  Skotkonung  do  when  the 
[i8i] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

people  rose  against  him  with  threats,  strong 
words,  and  clashing  of  shields  ?  What  was  he  to 
do  when  he  saw  nothing  but  swords  lifted  and 
angry  men  before  him  ?  Was  he  not  compelled 
to  promise  his  daughter  away  if  he  would  keep  his 
life  and  his  crown  ?  Must  he  not  swear  to  send 
the  Princess  to  Kungahalla  next  summer  to  meet 
King  Olaf  there? 

In  this  way  the  whole  people  helped  to  further 
Ingegerd's  love.  But  no  one  helped  Astrid  to  the 
attainment  of  her  happiness ;  no  one  asked  her 
about  her  love.  And  yet  it  lived — it  lived  like  the 
child  of  the  poor  fisherman's  widow,  in  want  and 
need ;  but  all  the  same  it  grew,  happily  and  hope- 
fully. It  grew  and  thrived,  for  in  Astrid's  soul 
there  were,  as  at  the  sea,  fresh  air  and  light  and 
breezy  waves. 

II 

In  the  rich  city  of  Kungahalla,  far  away  at  the 
border,  was  the  old  castle  of  the  kings.  It  was 
surrounded  by  green  ramparts.  Huge  stones 
stood  as  sentinels  outside  the  gates,  and  in  the 
courtyard  grew  an  oak  large  enough  to  shelter 
under  its  branches  all  the  King's  henchmen. 

The  whole  space  inside  the  ramparts  was  cov- 
ered with  long,  low  wooden  houses.  They  were 
so  old  that  grass  grew  on  the  ridges  of  the  roofs. 
The  beams  in  the  walls  were  made  from  the  thick- 
est trees  of  the  forest,  silver-white  with  age. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  summer  Olaf  Haralds- 
son  came  to  Kungahalla,  and  he  gathered  to- 
gether in  the  castle  everything  necessary  for  the 
[182] 


ASTRID 

celebration  of  his  marriage.  For  several  weeks 
peasants  came  crowding  up  the  long  street,  bring- 
ing gifts :  butter  in  tubs,  cheese  in  sacks,  hops 
and  salt,  roots  and  flour. 

After  the  gifts  had  been  brought  to  the  castle, 
there  was  a  continual  procession  of  wedding 
guests  through  the  street.  There  were  great  men 
and  women  on  side-saddles,  with  a  numerous 
retinue  of  servants  and  serfs.  Then  came  hosts 
of  players  and  singers,  and  the  reciters  of  the 
Sagas.  Merchants  came  all  the  way  from  Ven- 
derland  and  Gardarike,  to  tempt  the  King  with 
bridal  gifts. 

When  these  processions  for  two  whole  weeks 
had  filled  the  town  with  noise  and  bustle  they 
only  awaited  the  last  procession,  the  bride's. 

But  the  bridal  procession  was  long  in  coming. 
Every  day  they  expected  that  she  would  come 
ashore  at  the  King's  Landing-Stage,  and  from 
there,  headed  by  drum  and  fife,  and  followed  by 
merry  swains  and  serious  priests,  proceed  up  the 
street  to  the  King's  Castle.  But  the  bride's  pro- 
cession came  not. 

When  the  bride  was  so  long  in  coming,  every- 
body looked  at  King  Olaf  to  see  if  he  were  uneasy. 
But  the  King  always  showed  an  undisturbed  face. 

'  If  it  be  the  will  of  God,'  the  King  said,  '  that  I 
shall  possess  this  fair  woman,  she  will  assuredly 
come.' 

And  the  King  waited,  whilst  the  grass  fell  for 
the  scythe,  and  the  cornflowers  blossomed  in  the 
rye.  The  King  still  waited  when  the  flax  was 
pulled  up,  and  the  hops  ripened  on  the  poles.  TI'^ 
was  still  waiting,  when  the  bramble  blackened  on 
[183] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  mountain-side,  and  the  nip  reddened  on  the 
naked  branch  of  the  hawthorn. 


Hjalte  had  spent  the  whole  summer  at  Kunga- 
halla  waiting  for  the  marriage.  No  one  awaited 
the  arrival  of  the  Princess  more  eagerly  than  he 
did.  He  assuredly  awaited  her  with  greater  long- 
ing and  anxiety  than  even  King  Olaf  himself. 

Hjalte  no  longer  felt  at  his  ease  with  the  war- 
riors in  the  King's  Hall.  But  lower  down  the 
river  there  was  a  landing-stage  where  the  women 
of  Kungahalla  were  wont  to  assemble  to  see  the 
last  of  their  husbands  and  sons,  when  they  sailed 
for  distant  lands.  Here  they  were  also  in  the 
habit  of  gathering  during  the  summer,  to  watch 
for  the  vessels  coming  up  the  river,  and  to  weep 
over  those  who  had  departed.  To  that  bridge 
Hjalte  wended  his  way  every  day.  He  liked  best 
to  be  amongst  those  who  longed  and  sorrowed. 

Never  had  any  of  the  women  who  sat  waiting 
at  Weeping  Bridge  gazed  down  the  river  with 
more  anxious  look  than  did  Hjalte  the  Bard.  No 
one  looked  more  eagerly  at  every  approaching 
sail.  Sometimes  Hjalte  stole  away  to  the  Marie 
Church.  He  never  prayed  for  anything  for  him- 
self. He  only  came  to  remind  the  Saints  about 
this  marriage,  which  must  come  to  pass,  which 
God  Himself  had  willed. 

Most  of  all  Hjalte  liked  to  speak  with  King  Olaf 
Haraldsson  alone.  It  was  his  greatest  happiness 
to  sit  and  tell  him  of  every  word  that  had  fallen 
from  the  lips  of  the  King's  daughter.  He  de- 
scribed her  every  feature. 
[  184  ] 


ASTRID 

'  King  Olaf,'  he  said  to  him,  '  pray  to  God 
that  she  may  come  to  thee.  Every  day  I  see 
thee  warring  against  ancient  heathendom  which 
hides  Hke  an  owl  in  the  darkness  of  the  forest, 
and  in  the  mountain-clefts.  But  the  falcon.  King 
Olaf,  will  never  be  able  to  overcome  the  owl. 
Only  a  dove  can  do  that,  only  a  dove.' 

The  Bard  asked  the  King  whether  it  was  not 
his  desire  to  vanquish  all  his  enemies.  Was  it 
not  his  intention  to  be  alone  master  in  the  land? 
But  in  that  he  would  never  succeed.  He  would 
never  succeed  until  he  had  won  the  crown  which 
Hjalte  had  chosen  for  him,  a  crown  so  resplend- 
ent with  brightness  and  glory  that  everyone  must 
bow  before  him  who  owned  it. 

And  last  of  all  he  asked  the  King  if  he  were 
desirous  of  gaining  the  mastery  over  himself. 
But  he  would  never  succeed  in  overcoming  the 
wilfulness  of  his  own  heart  if  he  did  not  win  a 
shield  which  Hjalte  had  seen  in  the  Ladies' 
Bower  at  the  King's  Castle  at  Upsala.  It  was 
a  shield  from  which  shone  the  purity  of  heaven. 
It  was  a  shield  which  protected  from  all  sin  and 
the  lusts  of  the  flesh. 


But  harvest  came  and  they  were  still  waiting 
for  the  Princess.  One  after  the  other  the  great 
men  who  had  come  to  Kungahalla  for  the  mar- 
riage festivities  were  obliged  to  depart.  The  last 
to  take  his  leave  was  old  Hjalte  the  Bard.  It 
was  with  a  heavy  heart  he  set  sail,  but  he  was 
obliged  to  return  to  his  home  in  distant  Iceland 
before  Christmas  came. 

[185] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Old  Hjalte  had  not  gone  further  than  the  rocky 
islands  outside  the  mouth  of  the  northern  river 
before  he  met  a  galley.  He  immediately  ordered 
his  men  to  stop  rowing.  At  the  first  glance  he 
recognised  the  dragon-headed  ship  belonging  to 
Princess  Ingegerd.  Without  hesitation  Hjalte 
told  his  men  to  row  him  to  the  galley.  He  gave 
up  his  place  at  the  rudder  to  another,  and  placed 
himself  with  joyous  face  at  the  prow  of  the  boat. 

'  It  will  make  me  happy  to  behold  the  fair 
maiden  once  more,'  the  Bard  said.  '  It  gladdens 
my  heart  that  her  gentle  face  will  be  the  last  I 
shall  see  before  sailing  for  Iceland.' 

All  the  wrinkles  had  disappeared  from  Hjalte's 
face  when  he  went  on  board  the  dragon-ship. 
He  greeted  the  brave  lads  who  plied  the  oars 
as  friendlily  as  if  they  were  his  comrades,  and 
he  handed  a  golden  ring  to  the  maiden,  who, 
with  much  deference,  conducted  him  to  the 
women's  tent  in  the  stern  of  the  ship.  Hjalte's 
hand  trembled  when  he  lifted  the  hangings  that 
covered  the  entrance  to  the  tent.  He  thought 
this  was  the  most  beautiful  moment  of  his  life. 

'  Never  have  I  fought  for  a  greater  cause/  he 
said.  '  Never  have  I  longed  so  eagerly  for  any- 
thing as  this  marriage.' 

But  when  Hjalte  entered  the  tent,  he  drew 
back  a  step  in  great  consternation.  His  face  ex- 
pressed the  utmost  confusion.  He  saw  a  tall, 
beautiful  woman.  She  advanced  to  meet  him  with 
outstretched  hand.  But  the  woman  was  not  In- 
gegerd. 

Hjalte's  eyes  looked  searchingly  round  the 
narrow  tent  to  find  the  Princess.  He  certainly 
[i86] 


ASTRID 

saw  that  the  woman  who  stood  before  him  was 
a  King's  daughter.  Only  the  daughter  of  a  King 
could  look  at  him  with  such  a  proud  glance,  and 
greet  him  with  such  dignity.  And  she  wore  the 
band  of  royalty  on  her  forehead,  and  was  attired 
like  a  Queen.  But  why  was  she  not  Ingegerd? 
Hjalte  angrily  asked  the  strange  woman : 

'  Who  art  thou  ? ' 

'  Dost  thou  not  know  me,  Hjalte?  I  am  the 
King's  daughter,  to  whom  thou  hast  spoken 
about  Olaf  Haraldsson.' 

'  I  have  spoken  with  a  King's  daughter  about 
Olaf  Haraldsson,  but  her  name  was  Ingegerd.' 

'  Ingegerd  is  also  my  name.' 

'  Thy  name  can  be  what  thou  likest,  but  thou 
art  not  the  Princess.  What  is  the  meaning  of 
all  this?  Will  the  Svea-King  deceive  King 
Olaf?' 

*  He  will  not  by  any  means  deceive  him.  He 
sends  him  his  daughter  as  he  has  promised.' 

Hjalte  was  not  far  from  drawing  his  sword 
to  slay  the  strange  woman.  He  had  his  hand 
already  on  the  hilt,  but  he  bethought  himself  it 
was  not  befitting  a  warrior  to  take  the  life  of  a 
woman.  But  he  would  not  waste  more  words 
over  this  impostor.    He  turned  round  to  go. 

The  stranger  with  gentle  voice  called  him 
back. 

*  Where  art  thou  going,  Hjalte  ?  Dost  thou 
intend  to  go  to  Kungahalla  to  report  this  to  Olaf 
Haraldsson? ' 

'  That  is  my  intention,'  answered  Hjalte,  with- 
out looking  at  her. 

'  Why,  then,  dost  thou  leave  me,  Hjalte  ?    Why 
[  187  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

dost  thou  not  remain  with  me  ?  I,  too,  am  going 
to  Kungahalla.' 

Hjalte  now  turned  round  and  looked  at  her. 

'Hast  thou,  then,  no  pity  for  an  old  man?' 
he  said.  '  I  tell  thee  that  my  whole  mind  is  set 
upon  this  marriage.  Let  me  hear  the  full 
measure  of  my  misfortune.  Is  Princess  In- 
gegerd  not  coming? ' 

Then  the  Princess  gave  over  fooling  Hjalte. 

'  Come  into  my  tent  and  sit  down,'  she  said, 
*  and  I  will  tell  thee  all  that  thou  wouldest  know. 
I  see  it  is  of  no  use  to  hide  the  truth  from 
thee.' 

Then  she  began  to  tell  him  everything: 

'  The  summer  was  already  drawing  to  a  close. 
The  blackcock's  lively  young  ones  had  already 
strong  feathers  in  their  cloven  tails  and  firmness 
in  their  rounded  wings ;  they  had  already  begun 
to  flutter  about  amongst  the  close  branches  of 
the  pine-forest  with  quick,  noisy  strokes. 

'  It  happened  one  morning  that  the  Svea-King 
came  riding  across  the  plain ;  he  was  returning 
from  a  successful  chase.  There  hung  from  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle  a  shining  blue-black  black- 
cock, a  tough  old  fellow,  with  red  eyebrows, 
as  well  as  four  of  his  half-grown  young  ones, 
which  on  account  of  their  youth  were  still  garbed 
in  many-coloured  hues.  And  the  King  was  very 
proud  ;  he  thought  it  was  not  every  man's  luck 
to  make  such  a  bag  with  falcon  and  hawk  in 
one  morning. 

'  But  that  morning  Princess  Ingegerd  and  her 
maidens  stood  at  the  gates  of  the  castle  waiting 
for  the  King.  And  amongst  the  maidens  was 
[i88] 


ASTRID 

one,  Astrid  by  name ;  she  was  the  daughter  of 
the  Svea-King  just  as  much  as  Ingegerd, 
although  her  mother  was  not  a  free  woman,  and 
she  was  therefore  treated  as  a  bondmaiden.  And 
this  young  maiden  stood  and  showed  her  sister 
how  the  swallows  gathered  in  the  fields  and  chose 
the  leaders  for  their  long  journey.  She  reminded 
her  that  the  summer  was  soon  over — the  summer 
that  should  have  witnessed  the  marriage  of  In- 
gegerd — and  urged  her  to  ask  the  King  why  she 
might  not  set  out  on  her  journey  to  King  Olaf ; 
for  Astrid  wished  to  accompany  her  sister  on 
the  journey.  She  thought  that  if  she  could  but 
once  see  Olaf  Haraldsson,  she  would  have  pleas- 
ure from  it  all  her  life. 

'  But  when  the  Svea-King  saw  the  Princess,  he 
rode  up  to  her. 

'  "  Look,  Ingegerd,"  he  said,  "  here  are  five 
blackcocks  hanging  from  my  saddle.  In  one 
morning  I  have  killed  five  blackcocks.  Who 
dost  thou  think  can  boast  of  better  luck?  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  a  King  making  a  better  capt- 
ure?" 

'  But  then  the  Princess  was  angered  that  he 
who  barred  the  way  for  her  happiness  should 
come  so  proudly  and  praise  his  own  good  luck. 
And  to  make  an  end  of  the  uncertainty  that  had 
tormented  her  for  so  many  weeks,  she  replied  : 

'  "  Thou,  father,  hast  with  great  honour  killed 
five  blackcocks,  but  I  know  of  a  King  who  in 
one  morning  captured  five  other  Kings,  and  that 
was  Olaf  Haraldsson,  the  hero  whom  thou  hast 
selected  to  be  my  husband." 

'  Then  the  Svea-King  sprang  oflf  his  horse  in 

[189] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

great  fury,  and  advanced  towards  the  Princess 
with  clenched  hands. 

'  "  What  troh  hath  bewitched  thee?  "  he  asked. 
"  What  herb  hath  poisoned  thee?  How  hath  thy 
mind  been  turned  to  this  man  ?  " 

'  Ingegerd  did  not  answer ;  she  drew  back, 
frightened.     Then  the  King  became  quieter. 

'  "  Fair  daughter,"  he  said  to  her,  "  dost  thou 
not  know  how  dear  thou  art  to  me  ?  How  should 
I,  then,  give  thee  to  one  whom  I  cannot  endure? 
I  should  like  my  best  wishes  to  go  with  thee  on 
thy  journey.  I  should  like  to  sit  as  guest  in 
thy  hall.  I  tell  thee  thou  must  turn  thy  mind 
to  the  Kings  of  other  lands,  for  Norway's  King 
shall  never  own  thee." 

'  At  these  words  the  Princess  became  so  con- 
fused that  she  could  find  no  other  words  than 
these  with  which  to  answer  the  King: 

'  "  I  did  not  ask  thee ;  it  was  the  will  of  the 
people." 

'  The  King  then  asked  her  if  she  thought  that 
the  Svea-King  was  a  slave,  who  could  not  dis- 
pose of  his  own  offspring,  or  if  there  were  a 
master  over  him  who  had  the  right  to  give  away 
his  daughters. 

' "  Will  the  Svea-King  be  content  to  hear 
himself  called  a  breaker  of  oaths?"  asked  the 
Princess. 

*  Then  the  Svea-King  laughed  aloud. 

'  "  Do  not  let  that  trouble  thee.  No  one  shall 
call  me  that.  Why  dost  thou  question  about 
this,  thou  who  art  a  woman  ?  There  are  still 
men  in  my  Council ;  they  will  find  a  way  out 
of  it." 

[  190] 


ASTRID 

'  Then  the  King  turned  towards  his  henchmen 
who  had  been  with  him  to  the  chase. 

'  "  My  will  is  bound  by  this  promise,"  he  said 
to  them.    "  How  shall  I  be  released  from  it?  " 

'  But  none  of  the  King's  men  answered  a  word ; 
no  one  knew  how  to  counsel  him, 

'  Then  Oluf  Skotkonung  became  very  wrath ; 
he  became  like  a  madman. 

'  "  So  much  for  your  wisdom,"  he  shouted 
again  and  again  to  his  men.  "  I  will  be  free. 
Why  do  people  laud  your  wisdom  ?  " 

'  Whilst  the  King  raged  and  shouted,  and  no 
one  knew  how  to  answer  him,  the  maiden  Astrid 
stepped  forward  from  amongst  the  other  women 
and  made  a  proposal. 

'  Hjalte  must  really  believe  her  when  she  told 
him  that  it  was  only  because  she  found  it  so 
amusing  that  she  could  not  help  saying  it,  and 
not  in  the  least  because  she  thought  it  could 
really  be  done. 

'  "  Why  dost  thou  not  send  me?  "  she  had  said. 
"  I  am  also  thy  daughter.  Why  dost  thou  not 
send  me  to  the  Norwegian  King?  " 

*  But  when  Ingegerd  heard  Astrid  say  these 
words,  she  grew  pale. 

* "  Be  silent,  and  go  thy  way ! "  she  said 
angrily.  "  Go  thy  way,  thou  tattler,  thou  deceit- 
ful, wicked  thing,  to  propose  such  a  shameful 
thing  to  my  father!  " 

'  But  the  King  would  not  allow  Astrid  to  go. 
On  the  contrary  !  on  the  contrary !  He  stretched 
out  his  arms  and  drew  her  to  his  breast.  He 
both  laughed  and  cried,  and  was  as  wild  with  joy 
as  a  child. 

[191] 


^•yom  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'"Oh,"  he  shouted,  "what  an  idea!  What 
a  heathenish  trick !  Let  us  call  Astrid  Ingegerd, 
and  entrap  the  King  of  Norway  into  marrying 
her.  And  afterwards  when  the  rumour  gets 
abroad  that  she  is  born  of  a  bondwoman,  many 
will  rejoice  in  their  hearts,  and  Olaf  Haraldsson 
will  be  held  in  scorn  and  derision." 

'  But  then  Ingegerd  went  up  to  the  King,  and 
prayed : 

'  "  Oh,  father,  father !  do  not  do  this  thing. 
King  Olaf  is  dear  at  heart  to  me.  Surely  thou 
wilt  not  grieve  me  by  thus  deceiving  him." 

'  And  she  added  that  she  would  patiently  do 
the  bidding  of  her  royal  father,  and  give  up  all 
thought  of  marriage  with  Olaf  Haraldsson,  if 
he  would  only  promise  not  to  do  him  this  injury. 

'  But  the  Svea-King  would  not  listen  to  her 
prayers.  He  turned  to  Astrid  and  caressed  her, 
just  as  if  she  were  as  beautiful  as  revenge  itself. 

'  "  Thou  shalt  go !  thou  shalt  go  soon — to- 
morrow !  "  he  said.  "  All  thy  dowry,  thy  clothes, 
my  dear  daughter,  and  thy  retinue,  can  all  be 
collected  in  great  haste.  The  Norwegian  King 
will  not  think  of  such  things  ;  he  is  too  taken  up 
with  joy  at  the  thought  of  possessing  the  high- 
born daughter  of  the  Svea-King." 

'  Then  Ingegerd  understood  that  she  could 
hope  for  no  mercy.  And  she  went  up  to  her 
sister,  put  her  arm  round  her  neck,  and  con- 
ducted her  to  the  hall.  Here  she  placed  her  in 
her  own  seat  of  honour,  whilst  she  herself  sat 
down  on  a  low  stool  at  her  feet.  And  she  said 
to  Astrid  that  from  henceforth  she  must  sit  there, 
in  order  to  accustom  herself  to  the  place  she 
[192I 


ASTRID 

should  take  as  Queen.  For  Ingegerd  did  not 
wish  that  King  Olaf  should  have  any  occasion  to 
be  ashamed  of  his  Queen. 

'  Then  the  Princess  sent  her  maidens  to  the 
^'vardrobes  and  the  pantries  to  fetch  the  dowry 
bhe  had  chosen  for  herself.  And  she  gave  every- 
thing to  her  sister,  so  that  Astrid  should  not  come 
to  Norway's  King  as  a  poor  bondwoman.  She 
had  also  settled  which  of  the  serfs  and  maidens 
should  accompany  Astrid,  and  at  last  she  made 
her  a  present  of  her  own  splendid  galley. 

'  "  Thou  shalt  certainly  have  my  galley,"  she 
said.  "  Thou  knowest  there  are  many  good  men 
at  the  oars.  For  it  is  my  will  that  thou  shalt  come 
well  dowered  to  Norway's  King,  so  that  he  may 
feel  honoured  with  his  Queen." 

'  And  afterwards  the  Princess  had  sat  a  long 
time  with  her  sister,  and  spoken  with  her  about 
King  Olaf.  But  she  had  spoken  of  him  as  one 
speaks  of  the  Saints  of  God,  and  not  of  kings, 
and  Astrid  had  not  understood  many  of  her 
words.  But  this  much  she  did  understand — that 
the  King's  daughter  wished  to  give  Astrid  all 
the  good  thoughts  that  dwelt  in  her  own  heart, 
in  order  that  King  Olaf  might  not  be  so  dis- 
appointed as  her  father  wished.  And  then  As- 
trid, who  was  not  so  bad  as  people  thought 
her,  forgot  how  often  she  had  suffered  for  her 
sister's  sake,  and  she  wished  that  she  had  been 
able  to  say,  "  I  will  not  go !  "  She  had  also 
spoken  to  her  sister  about  this  wish,  and  they  had 
cried  together,  and  for  the  first  time  felt  like 
sisters. 

*  But  it  was  not  Astrid's  nature  to  allow  herself 
[  193] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

to  be  weighed  down  by  sorrow  and  scruples.  By 
the  time  she  was  out  at  sea  she  had  forgotten 
all  her  sorrow  and  fear.  She  travelled  as  a 
Princess,  and  was  waited  upon  as  a  Princess. 
For  the  first  time  since  her  mother's  death  she 
was  happy.' 

When  the  King's  beautiful  daughter  had  told 
Hjalte  all  this  she  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  at  him.  Hjalte  had  sat  immovable  whilst 
she  was  speaking,  but  the  King's  daughter  grew 
pale  when  she  saw  the  pain  his  face  betrayed. 

'  Tell  me  what  thou  thinkest,  Hjalte,'  she  ex- 
claimed. '  Now,  we  are  soon  at  Kungahalla. 
How  shall  I  fare  there?  Will  the  King  slay  me? 
Will  he  brand  me  with  red-hot  irons,  and  send 
me  back  again?    Tell  me  the  truth,  Hjalte.' 

But  Hjalte  did  not  answer.  He  sat  and  talked 
to  himself  without  knowing  it.  Astrid  heard 
him  murmur  that  at  Kungahalla  no  one  knew 
Ingegerd,  and  that  he  himself  had  but  little  incli- 
nation to  turn  back. 

But  now  Hjalte's  moody  face  fell  upon  Astrid, 
and  he  began  to  question  her.  She  had  wished, 
had  she  not,  that  she  could  have  said  '  No  '  to 
this  journey.  When  she  came  to  Kungahalla, 
the  choice  lay  before  her.  What  did  she,  then, 
mean  to  do !  Would  she  tell  King  Olaf  who  she 
was? 

This  question  caused  Astrid  not  a  little 
embarrassment.  She  was  silent  for  a  long  while, 
but  then  she  began  to  beg  Hjalte  to  go  with  her 
to  Kungahalla  and  tell  the  King  the  truth.  She 
told  Hfalte  that  her  maidens  and  the  men  on 
board  her  ship  had  been  bound  to  silence. 
[194] 


ASTRID 

'  And  what  I  shall  do  myself  I  do  not  know,' 
she  said.  '  How  can  I  know  that  ?  I  have  heard 
all  thou  hast  told  Ingegerd  about  Olaf  Haralds- 
son.' 

When  Astrid  said  this  she  saw  that  Hjalte  was 
again  lost  in  thought.  She  heard  him  mutter  to 
himself  that  he  did  not  think  she  would  confess 
how  things  were. 

'  But  I  must  all  the  same  tell  her  what  awaits 
her,'  he  said. 

Then  Hjalte  rose,  and  spoke  to  her  with  the 
utmost  gravity. 

'  Let  me  tell  thee  yet  another  story,  Astrid, 
about  King  Olaf,  which  I  have  not  told  thee  be- 
fore : 

'  It  was  at  the  time  when  King  Olaf  was  a  poor 
sea-king,  when  he  only  possessed  a  few  good 
ships  and  some  faithful  warriors,  but  none  of  his 
forefathers'  land.  It  was  at  the  time  when  he 
fought  with  honour  on  distant  seas,  chastised 
vikings  and  protected  merchants,  and  aided 
Christian  princes  with  his  sword. 

'  The  King  had  a  dream  that  one  night  an  angel 
of  God  descended  to  his  ship,  set  all  the  sails,  and 
steered  for  the  north.  And  it  seemed  to  the  King 
that  they  had  not  sailed  for  a  longer  time  than  it 
takes  the  dawn  to  extinguish  a  star  before  they 
came  to  a  steep  and  rocky  shore,  cut  up  by 
narrow  fjords  and  bordered  with  milk-white 
breakers.  But  when  they  reached  the  shore  the 
angel  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  spoke  in  his 
silvery  voice.  It  rang  through  the  wind,  which 
whistled  in  the  sails,  and  through  the  waves  surg- 
ing round  the  keel. 

[195] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

*  "  Thou,  King  Olaf,"  were  the  angel's  words, 
"  shalt  possess  this  land  for  all  time." 

*  And  when  the  angel  had  said  this  the  dream 
was  over.' 

Hjalte  now  tried  to  explain  to  Astrid  that  like 
as  the  dawn  tempers  the  transition  from  dark 
night  to  sunny  day,  so  God  had  not  willed  that 
King  Olaf  should  at  once  understand  that  the 
dream  foretold  him  of  superhuman  honour.  The 
King  had  not  understood  that  it  was  the  will  of 
God  that  he  from  a  heavenly  throne  should  reign 
forever  and  ever  over  Norway's  land,  that  kings 
should  reign  and  kings  should  pass  away,  but 
holy  King  Olaf  should  continue  to  rule  his  king- 
dom for  ever. 

The  King's  humility  did  not  let  him  see  the 
heavenly  message  in  its  fulness  of  light,  and  he 
understood  the  words  of  the  angel  thus — that  he 
and  his  seed  should  forever  rule  over  the  land 
the  angel  had  shown  him.  And  inasmuch  as  he 
thought  he  recognised  in  this  land  the  kingdom 
of  his  forefathers,  he  steered  his  course  for  Nor- 
way, and,  fortune  helping  him,  he  soon  became 
King  of  that  land. 

'  And  thus  it  is  still,  Astrid.  Although  every- 
thing indicates  that  in  King  Olaf  dwells  a 
heavenly  strength,  he  himself  is  still  in  doubt, 
and  thinks  that  he  is  only  called  to  be  an  earthly 
King.  He  does  not  yet  stretch  forth  his  hand 
for  the  crown  of  the  saints.  But  now  the  time 
cannot  be  far  distant  when  he  must  fully  realize 
his  mission.    It  cannot  be  far  distant.' 

And  old  Hjalte  went  on  speaking,  whilst  the 
light  of  the  seer  shone  in  his  soul  and  on  his 
brow. 

[196] 


ASTRID 

*  Is  there  any  other  woman  but  Ingegerd  who 
would  not  be  rejected  by  Olaf  Haraldsson  and 
driven  from  his  side  when  he  fully  understands 
the  words  of  the  angel,  that  he  shall  be  Norway's 
King  for  all  time?  Is  there  anyone  who  can, 
then,  follow  him  in  his  holy  walk  except  In- 
gegerd ?  ' 

And  again  Hjalte  turned  to  Astrid  and  asked 
with  great  severity : 

'  Answer  me  now  and  tell  me  whether  thou 
wilt  speak  the  truth  to  King  Olaf? ' 

Astrid  was  now  sore  afraid.  She  answered 
humbly : 

*  Why  wilt  thou  not  go  with  me  to  Kunga- 
halla?  Then  I  shall  be  compelled  to  tell 
everything.  Canst  thou  not  see,  Hjalte,  that  I 
do  not  know  myself  what  I  shall  do?  If  it  were 
my  intention  to  deceive  the  King,  could  I  not 
promise  thee  all  thou  wishest  ?  All  that  I  needed 
was  to  persuade  thee  to  go  on  thy  way.  But  I 
am  weak  ;  I  only  asked  thee  to  go  with  me.' 

But  hardly  had  she  said  this  before  she  saw 
Hjalte's  face  glow  with  fierce  wrath. 

'  Why  should  I  help  thee  to  escape  the  fate 
that  awaits  thee?  '  he  asked. 

And  then  he  said  that  he  did  not  think  he  had 
any  cause  to  show  her  mercy.  He  hated  her  for 
having  sinned  against  her  sister.  The  man  that 
she  would  steal,  thief  as  she  was,  belonged  to 
Ingegerd.  Even  a  hardened  warrior  like  Hjalte 
must  groan  with  pain  when  he  thought  of  how 
Ingegerd  had  suffered.  But  Astrid  had  felt 
nothing.  In  the  midst  of  all  that  young  maiden's 
sorrow  she  had  come  with  wicked  and  cruel  cun- 
[197] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

ning,  and  had  only  sought  her  own  happiness. 
Woe  unto  Astrid !   woe  unto  her ! 

Hjalte  had  lowered  his  voice ;  it  became  heavy 
and  dull ;  it  sounded  to  Astrid  as  if  he  were  mur- 
muring an  incantation. 

'  It  is  thou,'  he  said  to  her, '  who  hast  destroyed 
my  most  beautiful  song.'  For  the  most  beauti- 
ful song  Hjalte  had  made  was  the  one  in  which 
he  had  joined  the  most  pious  of  all  women  with 
the  greatest  of  all  men.  '  But  thou  hast  spoiled 
my  song,'  he  said,  '  and  made  a  mockery  of  it ; 
and  I  will  punish  thee,  thou  child  of  Hel.  I  will 
punish  thee ;  as  the  Lord  punisheth  the  tempter 
who  brought  sin  into  His  world,  I  will  punish 
thee.  But  do  not  ask  me,'  he  continued,  '  to  pro- 
tect thee  against  thine  own  self.  I  remember  the 
Princess,  and  how  she  must  sufYer  through  the 
trick  thou  playest  on  King  Olaf.  For  her  sake 
thou  shalt  be  punished,  just  as  much  as  for  mine. 
I  will  not  go  with  thee  to  betray  thee.  That  is 
my  revenge,  Astrid.  I  will  not  betray  thee.  Go 
thou  to  Kungahalla,  Astrid  ;  and  if  thou  dost  not 
speak  of  thine  own  accord,  thou  wilt  become  the 
King's  bride.  But  then,  thou  serpent,  punish- 
ment shall  overtake  thee !  I  know  King  Olaf, 
and  I  know  thee.  Thy  life  shall  be  such  a  bur- 
den that  thou  wilt  wish  for  death  every  day  that 
passes.' 

When  Hjalte  had  said  this  he  turned  away 
from  her  and  went  his  way. 

Astrid  sat  a  long  time  silent,  thinking  of  what 

she  had  heard.     But  then  a  smile  came  over  her 

face.     He  forgot,  did  old  Hjalte,  that  she  had 

suffered  many  trials,  that  she  had  learnt  to  laugh 

[198] 


ASTRID 

at  pain.    But  happiness,  happiness,  that  she  had 
never  tried. 

And  Astrid  rose  and  went  to  the  opening  of 
the  tent.  She  saw  the  angry  Bard's  ship.  She 
thought  that  far,  far  away  she  could  see  Iceland, 
shrouded  in  mist,  welcoming  her  much-travelled 
son  with  cold  and  darkness. 


Ill 

A  SUNNY  day  late  in  the  harvest,  not  a  cloud 
in  the  sky ;  a  day  when  one  thinks  the  fair  sun 
will  give  to  the  earth  all  the  light  she  possesses! 
The  fair  sun  is  like  a  mother  whose  son  is  about 
to  set  out  for  a  far-off  land,  and  who,  in  the  hour 
of  the  leave-taking,  cannot  take  her  eyes  from 
the  beloved. 

In  the  long  valley  where  Kungahalla  lies  there 
is  a  row  of  small  hills  covered  with  beech-wood. 
And  now  at  harvest-time  the  trees  have  garbed 
themselves  in  such  splendid  raiment  that  one's 
heart  is  gladdened.  One  would  almost  think 
that  the  trees  were  going  a-wooing.  It  looks 
as  if  they  had  clothed  themselves  in  gold  and 
scarlet  to  win  a  rich  bride  by  their  splendour. 

The  large  island  of  Hisingen,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  had  also  adorned  itself.  But 
Hisingen  is  covered  with  golden-white  birch- 
trees.  At  Hisingen  the  trees  are  clad  in  light 
colours,  as  if  they  are  little  maidens  in  bridal  at- 
tire. 

But  up  the  river,  which  comes  rushing  down 
towards  the  ocean  as  proudly  and  wildly  as  if 
[  199] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  harvest  rain  had  filled  it  with  frothy  wine, 
there  passes  the  one  ship  after  the  other,  rowing 
homewards.  And  when  the  ships  approach 
Kungahalla  they  hoist  new  white  sails,  instead 
of  the  old  ones  of  gray  wadmal ;  and  one  cannot 
help  thinking  of  old  fairy-tales  of  kings'  sons 
who  go  out  seeking  adventures  clothed  in  rags, 
but  who  throw  them  off  when  they  again  enter 
the  King's  lofty  hall. 

But  all  the  people  of  Kungahalla  have  as- 
sembled at  the  landing-stages.  Old  and  young 
are  busy  unloading  goods  from  the  ships.  They 
fill  the  storehouses  with  salt  and  train-oil,  with 
costly  weapons,  and  many-coloured  rugs.  They 
haul  large  and  small  vessels  on  to  land,  they 
question  the  returned  seamen  about  their  voy- 
age. But  suddenly  all  work  ceases,  and  every 
eye  is  turned  towards  the  river. 

Right  between  the  big  merchant  vessels  a 
large  galley  is  making  its  way,  and  people  ask 
each  other  in  astonishment  who  it  can  be  that 
carries  sails  striped  with  purple  and  a  golden 
device  on  the  prow ;  they  wonder  what  kind  of 
ship  it  can  be  that  comes  flying  over  the  waves 
like  a  bird.  They  praise  the  oarsmen,  who 
handle  the  oars  so  evenly  that  they  flash  along 
the  sides  of  the  ship  like  an  eagle's  wings. 

'  It  must  be  the  Swedish  Princess  who  is  com- 
ing,' they  say.  '  It  must  be  the  beautiful  Princess 
Ingegerd,  for  whom  Olaf  Haraldsson  has  been 
waiting  the  whole  summer  and  harvest.' 

And  the  women  hasten  down  to  the  riverside 
to  see  the  Princess  when  she  rows  past  them  on 
her  way  to  the  King's  Landing-Stage.    Men  and 

[  200  ] 


ASTRID 

boys  run  to  the  ships,  or  climb  the  roofs  of  the 
boathouses. 

When  the  women  see  the  Princess  standing 
in  gorgeous  apparel,  they  begin  to  shout  to  her, 
and  to  greet  her  with  words  of  welcome ;  and 
every  man  who  sees  her  radiant  face  tears  his 
cap  from  his  head  and  swings  it  high  in  the  air. 
But  on  the  King's  Landing-Stage  stands  King 
Olaf  himself,  and  when  he  sees  the  Princess  his 
face  beams  with  gladness,  and  his  eyes  light  up 
with  tender  love. 

And  as  it  is  now  so  late  in  the  year  that  all 
the  flowers  are  faded,  the  young  maidens  pluck 
the  golden-red  autumnal  leaves  from  the  trees 
and  strew  them  on  the  bridge  and  in  the  street ; 
and  they  hasten  to  deck  their  houses  with  the 
bright  berries  of  the  mountain-ash  and  the  dark- 
red  leaves  of  the  poplar. 

The  Princess,  who  stands  high  on  the  ship, 
sees  the  people  waving  and  greeting  her  in  wel- 
come. She  sees  the  golden-red  leaves  over  which 
she  shall  walk,  and  foremost  on  the  landing-stage 
she  sees  the  King  awaiting  her  with  smiles.  And 
the  Princess  forgets  everything  she  would  have 
said  and  confessed.  She  forgets  that  she  is  not 
Ingegerd,  she  forgets  everything  except  the  one 
thing,  that  she  is  to  be  the  wife  of  Olaf  Haralds- 
son. 


One  Sunday  Olaf  Haraldsson  was  seated  at 
table,  and  his  beautiful  Queen  sat  by  his  side. 
He  was  talking  eagerly  with  her,  resting  his 
elbow  on  the  table,  and  turning  towards  her,  so 

[201  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

that  he  could  see  her  face.  But  when  Astrid 
spoke  the  King  lowered  his  eyes  in  order  not  to 
think  of  anything  but  her  lovely  voice,  and  when 
she  had  been  speaking  for  a  long  time  he  began 
to  cut  the  table  with  his  knife  without  thinking 
of  what  he  was  doing.  All  King  Olaf's  men 
knew  that  he  would  not  have  done  this  if  he  had 
remembered  that  it  was  Sunday ;  but  they  had 
far  too  great  a  respect  for  King  Olaf  to  venture 
to  remind  him  that  he  was  committing  a  sin. 

The  longer  Astrid  talked,  the  more  uneasy  be- 
came his  henchmen.  The  Queen  saw  that  they 
exchanged  troubled  glances  with  each  other,  but 
she  did  not  understand  what  was  the  matter. 

All  had  finished  eating,  and  the  food  had  been 
removed,  but  King  Olaf  still  sat  and  talked  with 
Astrid  and  cut  the  top  of  the  table.  A  whole 
little  heap  of  chips  lay  in  front  of  him.  Then  at 
last  his  friend  Bjorn,  the  son  of  Ogur  from 
Selo,  spoke. 

'  What  day  is  it  to-morrow,  Eilif  ?  '  he  asked, 
turning  to  one  of  the  torch-bearers. 

*  To-morrow  is  Monday,'  answered  Eihf  in  a 
loud  and  clear  voice. 

Then  the  King  lifted  his  head  and  looked  up 
at  Eilif. 

*  Dost  thou  say  that  to-morrow  is  Monday?' 
he  asked  thoughtfully. 

Without  saying  another  word,  the  King  gath- 
ered up  all  the  chips  he  had  cut  ofif  the  table  into 
his  hand,  went  to  the  fireplace,  seized  a  burning 
coal,  and  laid  it  on  the  chips,  which  soon  caught 
fire.  The  King  stood  quite  still  and  let  them 
burn  to  ashes  in  his  hand.    Then  all  the  hench- 

[  202] 


ASTRID 

men  rejoiced,  but  the  young  Queen  grew  pale  as 
death. 

'  What  sentence  will  he  pronounce  over  me 
when  he  one  day  finds  out  my  sin,'  she  thought, 
'  he  who  punishes  himself  so  hardly  for  so  slight 
an  oflfence  ?  ' 


Agge  from  Gardarike  lay  sick  on  board  his 
galley  in  Kungahalla  harbour.  He  was  lying  in 
the  narrow  hold  awaiting  death.  He  had  been 
sufifering  for  a  long  time  from  pains  in  his  foot, 
and  now  there  was  an  open  sore,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  last  few  hours  it  had  begun  to  turn 
black. 

'  Thou  needest  not  die,  Agge,'  said  Lodulf 
from  Kunghalla,  who  had  come  on  board  to  see 
his  sick  friend.  '  Dost  thou  not  know  that  King 
Olaf  is  here  in  the  town,  and  that  God,  on  ac- 
count of  his  piety  and  holiness,  has  given  him 
power  to  heal  the  sick  ?  Send  a  message  to  him 
and  ask  him  to  come  and  lay  his  hand  upon  thee, 
and  thou  wilt  recover.' 

'  No,  I  cannot  ask  help  from  him,'  answered 
Agge.  '  Olaf  Haraldsson  hates  me  because  I 
have  slain  his  foster-brother,  Reor  the  White. 
If  he  knew  that  my  ship  lay  in  the  harbour,  he 
would  send  his  men  to  kill  me.' 

But  when  Lodulf  had  left  Agge  and  gone  into 
the  town,  he  met  the  young  Queen,  who  had 
been  in  the  forest  gathering  nuts. 

'  Queen,'  Lodulf  cried  to  her,  '  say  this  to 
King  Olaf :  "  Agge  from  Gardarike,  who  has 
[203] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

slain  thy  foster-brother,  lies  at  the  point  of  death 
on  his  ship  in  the  harbour."  ' 

The  young  Queen  hastened  home  and  went 
immediately  up  to  King  Olaf,  who  stood  in  the 
courtyard  smoothing  the  mane  of  his  horse. 

'  Rejoice,  King  Olaf !  '  she  said.  '  Agge  from 
Gardarike,  who  slew  thy  foster-brother,  lies  sick 
on  his  ship  in  the  harbour  and  is  near  death.' 

Olaf  Haraldsson  at  once  led  his  horse  into  the 
stable ;  then  he  went  out  without  sword  or 
helmet.  He  went  quickly  down  one  of  the  nar- 
row lanes  between  the  houses  until  he  reached 
the  harbour.  There  he  found  the  ship  which 
belonged  to  Agge.  The  King  was  at  the  side 
of  the  sick  man  before  Agge's  men  thought  of 
stopping  him. 

*  Agge,'  said  King  Olaf,  '  many  a  time  I  have 
pursued  thee  on  the  sea,  and  thou  hast  always 
escaped  me.  Now  thou  hast  been  struck  down 
with  sickness  here  in  my  city.  This  is  a  sign  to 
me  that  God  hath  given  thy  life  into  my  hands.' 

Agge  made  no  answer.  He  was  utterly  feeble, 
and  death  was  very  near.  Olaf  Haraldsson  laid 
his  hands  upon  his  breast  and  prayed  to  God. 

'  Give  me  the  life  of  this  mine  enemy,'  he  said. 

But  the  Queen,  who  had  seen  the  King  hasten 
down  to  the  harbour  without  helmet  and  sword, 
went  into  the  hall,  fetched  his  weapons  and  called 
for  some  of  his  men.  Then  she  hurried  after 
him  down  to  the  ship.  But  when  she  stood  out- 
side the  narrow  hold,  she  heard  King  Olaf  pray- 
ing for  the  sick  man. 

Astrid  looked  in  and  saw  the  King  and  Agge 
without  betraying  her  presence.  She  saw  that 
I  204] 


ASTRID 

whilst  the  King's  hands  rested  upon  the  forehead 
and  breast  of  the  dying  man,  the  deathly  pallor 
vanished  from  his  face ;  he  began  to  breathe 
lightly  and  quietly ;  he  ceased  moaning,  and  at 
last  he  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 

Astrid  went  softly  back  to  the  King's  Castle. 
She  dragged  the  King's  sword  after  her  along 
the  road.  Her  face  was  paler  than  the  dying 
man's  had  been.  Her  breathing  was  heavy,  like 
that  of  a  dying  person. 


It  was  the  morning  of  All  Saints'  Day,  and 
King  Olaf  was  ready  to  go  to  Mass.  He  came 
out  of  the  King's  Hall  and  went  across  the  court- 
yard towards  the  gateway.  Several  of  the  King's 
henchmen  stood  in  the  courtyard  to  accompany 
him  to  Mass.  When  the  King  came  towards 
them,  they  drew  up  in  two  rows,  and  the  King 
passed  between  them. 

Astrid  stood  in  the  narrow  corridor  outside 
the  Women's  Room  and  looked  down  at  the 
King.  He  wore  a  broad  golden  band  round  his 
head,  and  was  attired  in  a  long  mantle  of  red 
velvet.  He  went  very  quietly,  and  there  was  a 
holy  peace  over  his  face.  Astrid  was  terrified 
to  see  how  much  he  resembled  the  Saints  and 
Kings  that  were  carved  in  wood  over  the  altar 
in  the  Marie  Church. 

At  the  gateway  stood  a  man  in  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  wearing  a  big  mantle.  When 
the  King  approached  him  he  threw  ofif  his 
mantle,  lifted  a  drawn  sword,  which  he  had  hid- 
den under  it,  and  rushed  at  the  King.  But  when 
[205] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

he  was  quite  close  to  him,  the  mild  and  gentle 
glance  of  the  King  fell  upon  him,  and  he  sud- 
denly stopped.  He  let  his  sword  fall  to  the 
ground,  and  fell  on  his  knees. 

King  Olaf  stood  still,  and  looked  at  the  man 
with  the  same  clear  glance ;  the  man  tried  to 
turn  his  eyes  away  from  him,  but  he  could  not. 
At  last  he  burst  into  tears  and  sobs. 

'Oh,  King  Olaf!  King  Olaf!'  he  moaned. 
'  Thine  enemies  sent  me  hither  to  slay  thee ;  but 
when  I  saw  thy  saintly  face  my  sword  fell  from 
my  hand.  Thine  eyes,  King  Olaf,  have  felled 
me  to  the  ground.' 

Astrid  sank  upon  her  knees  where  she  stood. 

*  Oh  God,  have  mercy  upon  me,  a  sinner !  '  she 
said.  '  Woe  unto  me,  because  by  lying  and  de- 
ceit I  have  become  the  wife  of  this  man.' 


IV 

On  the  evening  of  All  Saints'  Day  the  moon 
shone  bright  and  clear.  The  King  had  gone  the 
round  of  the  castle,  had  looked  into  stables 
and  barns  to  see  that  all  was  well;  he  had  even 
been  to  the  house  where  the  serfs  dwelt  to  as- 
certain if  they  were  well  looked  after.  When  he 
went  back  to  the  King's  Hall,  he  saw  a  woman 
with  a  black  kerchief  over  her  head  stealing 
towards  the  gateway.  He  thought  he  knew  her, 
and  therefore  followed  her.  She  went  out  of 
the  gateway,  over  the  Market  Place,  and  stole 
down  the  narrow  lanes  to  the  river. 
[206] 


ASTRID 

Olaf  Haraldsson  went  after  her  as  quietly  as 
he  could.  He  saw  her  go  on  to  bne  of  the 
landing-stages,  stand  still,  and  look  down  into 
the  water.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  towards 
heaven,  and,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  went  so  near 
the  edge  that  the  King  saw  she  meant  to  spring 
into  the  river. 

The  King  approached  her  with  the  noiseless 
steps  which  a  life  full  of  danger  had  taught  him. 
Twice  the  woman  lifted  her  foot  to  make  the 
spring,  but  she  hesitated.  Before  she  could  make 
a  new  attempt.  King  Olaf  had  his  arm  round 
her  waist  and  drew  her  back. 

'  Thou  unhappy  one  ! '  he  said.  '  Thou  would- 
est  do  that  which  God  hath  prohibited.' 

When  the  woman  heard  his  voice  she  held  her 
hands  before  her  face  as  if  to  hide  it.  But  King 
Olaf  knew  who  she  was.  The  rustle  of  her  dress, 
the  shape  of  her  head,  the  golden  rings  on  her 
arms  had  already  told  him  that  it  was  the  Queen. 
The  first  moment  Astrid  had  struggled  to  free 
herself,  but  she  soon  grew  quiet,  and  tried  to 
make  the  King  beUeve  that  she  had  not  intended 
to  kill  herself. 

'  King  Olaf,  why  dost  thou  secretly  come  be- 
hind a  poor  woman  who  hath  gone  down  to  the 
river  to  see  how  she  is  mirrored  in  the  water? 
What  must  I  think  of  thee?  ' 

Astrid's  voice  sounded  composed  and  playful. 
The  King  stood  silent. 

*  Thou  hast  frightened  me  so  that  I  nearly  fell 
into  the  river,'  Astrid  said.  '  Didst  thou  think, 
perhaps,  that  I  would  drown  myself? ' 

The  King  answered  : 

[207] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'  I  know  not  what  to  believe ;  God  will  en- 
lighten me.' 

Astrid  laughed  and  kissed  him. 

*  What  woman  would  take  her  life  who  is  as 
happy  as  I  am?  Doth  one  take  one's  Hfe  in 
Paradise  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  understand  it,'  said  King  Olaf,  in 
his  gentle  manner.  '  God  will  enlighten  me.  He 
will  tell  me  if  it  be  through  any  fault  of  mine  that 
thou  wouldest  commit  so  great  a  sin.' 

Astrid  went  up  to  him  and  stroked  his  cheek. 
The  reverence  she  felt  for  King  Olaf  had  hitherto 
deterred  her  from  showing  him  the  full  tender- 
ness of  her  love.  Now  she  threw  her  arms  pas- 
sionately around  him  and  kissed  him  countless 
times.  Then  she  began  to  speak  to  him  in  gentle, 
bird-like  tones. 

*  Wouldest  thou  know  how  truly  my  heart 
clings  to  thee?  '  she  said. 

She  made  the  King  sit  down  on  an  overturned 
boat.    She  knelt  down  at  his  feet. 

*  King  Olaf,'  she  said,  '  I  will  no  longer  be 
Queen.  She  who  loves  as  greatly  as  I  love  thee 
cannot  be  a  Queen.  I  wish  thou  wouldest  go  far 
into  the  forest,  and  let  me  be  thy  bondwoman. 
Then  I  should  have  leave  to  serve  thee  every 
day.  Then  I  would  prepare  thy  food,  make  thy 
bed,  and  watch  over  thy  house  whilst  thou  slept. 
None  other  should  have  leave  to  serve  thee,  ex- 
cept I.  When  thou  returnest  from  the  chase 
in  the  evening,  I  would  go  to  meet  thee,  and 
kneel  before  thee  on  the  road  and  say :  "  King 
Olaf,  my  life  is  thine."  And  thou  wouldest  laugh, 
and  lower  thy  spear  against  my  breast,  and  say: 

[208] 


ASTRID 

"  Yes,  thy  life  is  mine.  Thou  hast  neither  father 
nor  mother;  thou  art  mine,  and  thy  hfe  is  mine."  ' 

As  Astrid  said  this,  she  drew,  as  if  in  play, 
King  Olaf's  sword  out  of  its  sheath.  She  laid 
the  hilt  in  the  King's  hand,  but  the  point  she 
directed  towards  her  own  heart. 

'  Say  these  words  to  me.  King  Olaf,'  she  said, 
'  as  if  we  were  alone  in  the  forest,  and  I  were  thy 
bondwoman.     Say  :     "  Thy  life  is  mine."  ' 

'  Thy  life  is  God's,'  said  the  King. 

Astrid  laughed  lightly. 

'  My  life  is  thine,'  she  repeated,  in  the  tender- 
est  voice,  and  the  same  moment  King  Olaf  felt 
that  she  pressed  the  point  of  the  sword  against 
her  breast. 

But  the  King  held  the  sword  with  a  firm  hand, 
even  when  in  play.  He  drew  it  to  him  before 
Astrid  had  time  to  do  herself  any  harm.  And  he 
sprang  up.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
trembled  from  fear.  The  Queen  would  die  at  his 
hand,  and  she  had  not  been  far  from  attaining 
her  wish.  At  the  same  moment  he  had  an  in- 
spiration, and  he  understood  what  was  the  cause 
of  her  despair. 

'  She  has  committed  a  sin,'  he  thought.  '  She 
has  a  sin  upon  her  conscience.' 

He  bent  down  over  Astrid, 

*  Tell  me  in  what  manner  thou  hast  sinned,* 
he  said. 

Astrid  had  thrown  herself  down  on  the  rough 
planks  of  the  bridge,  crying  in  utter  despair. 

'  No  one  free  from  guilt  would  weep  like  this,' 
thought  the  King.  '  But  how  can  the  honour- 
able daughter  of  the  King  have  brought  such  a 
[209] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

heavy  burden  upon  her?'  he  asked  himself. 
'  How  can  the  noble  Ingegerd  have  a  crime  upon 
her  conscience? ' 

'  Ingegerd,  tell  me  how  thou  hast  sinned,'  he 
asked  again. 

But  Astrid  was  sobbing  so  violently  that  she 
could  not  answer,  but  instead  she  drew  off  her 
golden  arm  and  finger  rings,  and  handed  them 
to  the  King  with  averted  face.  The  King 
thought  how  unlike  this  was  to  the  gentle  King's 
daughter  of  whom  Hjalte  had  spoken. 

'  Is  this  Hjalte's  Ingegerd  that  lies  sobbing  at 
my  feet  ?  '  he  thought. 

He  bent  down  and  seized  Astrid  by  the 
shoulder. 

'  Who  are  thou  ?  who  art  thou  ?  '  he  said,  shak- 
ing her  arm.  '  I  see  that  thou  canst  not  be  In- 
gegerd.    Who  art  thou  ?  ' 

Astrid  was  still  sobbing  so  violently  that  she 
could  not  speak.  But  in  order  to  give  the  King 
the  answer  he  asked  for,  she  let  down  her  long 
hair,  twisted  a  lock  of  it  round  her  arms,  and  held 
them  towards  the  King,  and  sat  thus  bowed  and 
with  drooping  head.    The  King  thought : 

'  She  wishes  me  to  understand  that  she  belongs 
to  those  who  wear  chains.  She  confesses  that 
she  is  a  bondwoman.' 

A  thought  again  struck  the  King;  he  now 
understood  everything. 

'  Has  not  the  Svea-King  a  daughter  who  is 
the  child  of  a  bondwoman?'  he  asked  suddenly. 

He  received  no  answer  to  this  question  either, 
but  he  heard  Astrid  shudder  as  if  from  cold. 
King  Olaf  asked  still  one  more  question. 

[210] 


ASTRID 

'  Thou  whom  I  have  made  my  wife/  he  said, 
*  hast  thou  so  low  a  mind  that  thou  wouldest 
allow  thyself  to  be  used  as  a  means  of  spoiling 
a  man's  honour?  Is  thy  mind  so  mean  that  thou 
rejoicest  when  his  enemies  laugh  at  his  discom- 
fiture ?  ' 

Astrid  could  hear  from  the  King's  voice  how 
bitterly  he  suffered  under  the  insult  that  had 
been  offered  him.  She  forgot  her  own  suffer- 
ings, and  wept  no  more. 

'  Take  my  life,'  she  said. 

A  great  temptation  came  upon  King  Olaf. 

'  Slay  this  wicked  bondwoman,'  the  old  Adam 
said  within  him.  '  Show  the  Svea-King  what  it 
costs  to  make  a  fool  of  the  King  of  Norway.' 

At  that  moment  Olaf  Haraldsson  felt  no  love 
for  Astrid.  He  hated  her  for  having  been  the 
means  of  his  humiliation.  He  knew  everybody 
would  think  it  right  when  he  returned  evil  for 
evil,  and  if  he  did  not  avenge  this  insult,  he 
would  be  held  in  derision  by  the  Bards,  and  his 
enemies  would  no  longer  fear  him.  He  had  but 
one  wish :  to  slay  Astrid,  to  take  her  life.  His 
anger  was  so  violent  that  it  craved  for  blood. 
If  a  fool  had  dared  to  put  his  fool's  cap  upon 
his  head,  would  he  not  have  torn  it  off,  torn  it 
to  pieces,  thrown  it  on  the  ground,  trampled 
upon  it?  If  he  now  laid  Astrid  a  bloody  corpse 
upon  her  ship,  and  sent  her  back  to  her  father, 
people  would  say  of  King  Olaf  that  he  was  a 
worthy  descendant  of  Harald  Haarfager. 

But  King  Olaf  still  held  his  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  under  his  fingers  he  felt  the  hilt,  upon 
which  he  had  once  had  inscribed :     '  Blessed  are 

[211] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  peacemakers/  *  Blessed  are  the  meek,* 
'  Blessed  are  the  merciful.'  And  every  time  he, 
in  this  hour  of  anguish,  grasped  his  sword  firmly 
in  order  to  slay  Astrid,  he  felt  these  words  under 
his  hand.  He  thought  he  could  feel  every  letter. 
He  remembered  the  day  when  he  had  first  heard 
these  words. 

'  This  I  will  write  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  hilt 
of  my  sword,'  he  had  said,  '  so  that  the  words 
may  burn  in  my  hand  every  time  I  would  swing 
my  sword  in  fury,  or  for  an  unjust  cause.' 

He  felt  that  the  hilt  of  the  sword  now  burnt  in 
his  hand.    King  Olaf  said  aloud  to  himself: 

'  Formerly  thou  wert  the  slave  of  many  lusts ; 
now  thou  hast  but  one  master,  and  that  is  God.' 

With  these  words  he  put  back  the  sword  into 
its  sheath,  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro  on  the 
bridge.  Astrid  remained  lying  in  the  same  posi- 
tion. King  Olaf  saw  that  she  crouched  in  fear 
of  death  every  time  he  went  past  her. 

'  I  will  not  slay  thee,'  he  said ;  but  his  voice 
sounded  hard  from  hatred. 

King  Olaf  continued  for  awhile  to  walk  back- 
wards and  forwards  on  the  bridge  ;  then  he  went 
up  to  Astrid,  and  asked  her  in  the  same  hard 
voice  what  her  real  name  was,  and  that  she  was 
able  to  answer  him.  He  looked  at  this  woman 
whom  he  had  so  highly  treasured,  and  who  now 
lay  at  his  feet  like  a  wounded  deer — he  looked 
down  upon  her  as  a  dead  man's  soul  looks  with 
pity  at  the  poor  body  which  was  once  its  dwell- 
ing. 

'  Oh,  thou  my  soul,'  said  King  Olaf,  '  it  was 
there  thou  dwelt  in  love,  and  now  thou  art  as 
[212] 


ASTRID 

homeless  as  a  beggar.'  He  drew  nearer  to 
Astrid,  and  spoke  as  if  she  were  no  longer  Hving 
or  could  hear  what  he  said.  *  It  was  told  me 
that  there  was  a  King's  daughter  whose  heart 
was  so  pure  and  holy  that  she  endued  with  peace 
all  who  came  near  her.  They  told  me  of  her 
gentleness,  that  he  who  saw  her  felt  as  safe  as  a 
helpless  child  does  with  its  mother,  and  when 
the  beautiful  woman  who  now  lies  here  came 
to  me,  I  thought  that  she  was  Ingegerd,  and  she 
became  exceeding  dear  to  me.  She  was  so 
beautiful  and  glad,  and  she  made  my  own  heavy 
thoughts  light.  And  did  she  sometimes  act 
otherwise  than  I  expected  the  proud  Ingegerd 
to  do,  she  was  too  dear  to  me  to  doubt  her ;  she 
stole  into  my  heart  with  her  joyousness  and 
beauty.' 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  thought  how 
dear  Astrid  had  been  to  him  and  how  happiness 
had  with  her  come  to  his  house. 

*  I  could  forgive  her,'  he  said  aloud.  '  I  could 
again  make  her  my  Queen,  I  could  in  love  take 
her  in  my  arms ;  but  I  dare  not,  for  my  soul 
would  still  be  homeless.  Ah,  thou  fair  woman,' 
he  said, '  why  dost  lying  dwell  within  thee  ?  With 
thee  there  is  no  security,  no  rest.' 

The  King  went  on  bemoaning  himself,  but 
now  Astrid  stood  up. 

'  King  Olaf,  do  not  speak  thus  to  me,'  she 
said ;  *  I  will  rather  die.  Understand,  I  am  in 
earnest.' 

Then  she  tried  to  say  a  few  words  to  excuse 
herself.  She  told  him  that  she  had  gone  to 
Kungahalla  not  with  the  intention  of  deceiving 

[213] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

him,  but  in  order  to  be  a  Princess  for  a  few 
weeks,  to  be  waited  upon  like  a  Queen,  to  sail 
on  the  sea.  But  she  had  intended  to  confess  who 
she  was  as  soon  as  she  came  to  Kungahalla. 
There  she  expected  to  find  Hjalte  and  the  other 
great  men  who  knew  Ingegerd.  She  had  never 
thought  of  deceiving  him  when  she  came,  but 
an  evil  spirit  had  sent  all  those  away  who  knew 
Ingegerd,  and  then  the  temptation  had  come 
to  her. 

'  When  I  saw  thee,  King  Olaf,'  she  said,  '  I 
forgot  everything  to  become  thine,  and  I  thought 
I  would  gladly  suffer  death  at  thine  hand  had  I 
but  for  one  day  been  thy  wife.' 

King  Olaf  answered  her: 

*  I  see  that  what  was  deadly  earnest  to  me  was 
but  a  pastime  to  thee.  Never  hast  thou  thought 
upon  what  it  was  to  come  and  say  to  a  man :  "  I 
am  she  whom  thou  most  fervently  desirest ;  I  am 
that  high-born  maiden  whom  it  is  the  greatest 
honour  to  win."  And  then  thou  art  not  that 
woman ;  thou  art  but  a  lying  bondwoman.' 

'  I  have  loved  thee  from  the  first  moment  I 
heard  thy  name,'  Astrid  said  softly. 

The  King  clenched  his  hand  in  anger  against 
her. 

'  Know,  Astrid,  that  I  have  longed  for  In- 
gegerd as  no  man  has  ever  longed  for  woman.  I 
would  have  clung  to  her  as  the  soul  of  the  dead 
clings  to  the  angel  bearing  him  upwards.  I 
thought  she  was  so  pure  that  she  could  have 
helped  me  to  lead  a  sinless  life.' 

And  he  broke  out  into  wild  longings,  and  said 
that  he  longed  for  the  power  of  the  holy  ones  of 
[214] 


ASTRID 

God,  but  that  he  was  too  weak  and  sinful  to  attain 
to  perfection. 

'  But  the  King's  daughter  could  have  helped 
me,'  he  said ;  '  she  the  saintly  and  gentle  one 
would  have  helped  me.  Oh,  my  God,'  he  said, 
'  whichever  way  I  turn  I  see  sinners,  wherever 
I  go  I  meet  those  who  would  entice  me  to  sin. 
Why  didstThou  not  send  me  the  King's  daughter, 
who  had  not  a  single  evil  thought  in  her  heart? 
Her  gentle  eye  would  have  found  the  right  path 
for  my  foot.  Whenever  I  strayed  from  it  her 
gentle  hand  would  have  led  me  back.' 

A  feeling  of  utter  helplessness  and  the  weari- 
ness of  despair  fell  upon  Olaf  Haraldsson. 

'  It  was  this  upon  which  I  had  set  my  hopes,' 
he  said — '  to  have  a  good  woman  at  my  side,  not 
to  wander  alone  amongst  wickedness  and  sin  for- 
ever. Now  I  feel  that  I  must  succumb ;  I  am 
unable  to  fight  any  longer.  Have  I  not  asked 
God,'  he  exclaimed,  '  what  place  I  shall  have 
before  His  face?  To  what  hast  Thou  chosen  me, 
Thou  Lord  of  souls?  Is  it  appointed  unto  me 
to  become  the  equal  of  apostles  and  martyrs? 
But  now,  Astrid,  I  need  ask  no  longer ;  God  hath 
not  been  willing  to  give  me  that  woman  who 
should  have  assisted  me  in  my  wandering.  Now 
I  know  that  I  shall  never  win  the  crown  of  the 
Saints.' 

The  King  was  silent  in  inconsolable  despair ; 
then  Astrid  drew  nearer  to  him. 

'  King  Olaf,'  she  said,  '  what  thou  now  sayest 
both  Hjalte  and  Ingegerd  have  told  me  long  ago, 
but  I  would  not  believe  that  thou  wert  more  than 
a  good  and  brave  knight  and  noble  King.     It  is 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

only  now  that  I  have  Hved  under  thy  roof  that 
my  soul  has  begun  to  fear  thee.  I  have  felt  that 
it  was  worse  than  death  to  appear  before  thee 
with  a  lie  upon  my  lips.  Never  have  I  been  so 
terrified,'  Astrid  continued,  '  as  when  I  under- 
stood that  thou  wast  a  Saint.  When  I  saw  thee 
burn  the  chips  in  thine  hand,  when  I  saw  sick- 
ness fiee  at  thy  bidding,  and  the  sword  fall  out  of 
thine  enemy's  hand  when  he  met  thee,  I  was 
terrified  unto  death  when  I  saw  that  thou  wast  a 
Saint,  and  I  resolved  to  die  before  thou  knewest 
that  I  had  deceived  thee.' 

King  Olaf  did  not  answer.  Astrid  looked  up 
at  him ;  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  turned 
towards  heaven.  She  did  not  know  if  he  had 
heard  her. 

'  Ah,'  she  said,  '  this  moment  have  I  feared 
every  day  and  every  hour  since  I  came  hither. 
I  would  have  died  rather  than  live  through  it.' 

Olaf  Haraldsson  was  still  silent. 

'  King  Olaf,'  she  said,  '  I  would  gladly  give  my 
life  for  thee ;  I  would  gladly  throw  myself  into 
the  gray  river  so  that  thou  shouldst  not  live  with 
a  lying  woman  at  thy  side.  The  more  I  saw  of 
thy  holiness  the  better  I  understood  that  I  must 
go  from  thee.  A  Saint  of  God  cannot  have  a 
lying  bondwoman  at  his  side.' 

The  King  was  still  silent,  but  now  Astrid  raised 
her  eyes  to  his  face ;  then  she  cried  out,  terror- 
stricken  : 

'  King  Olaf,  thy  face  shines.' 

Whilst  Astrid  spoke,  God  had  shown  King 
Olaf  a  vision.  He  saw  all  the  stars  of  heaven 
leave  their  appointed  places,  and  fly  like  swarm- 
[216] 


ASTRID 

ing  bees  about  the  universe.  But  suddenly  they 
all  gathered  above  his  head  and  formed  a  radiant 
crown. 

'  Astrid,'  said  he,  with  trembling  voice,  '  God 
hath  spoken  to  me.  It  is  true  what  thou  sayest. 
I  shall  become  a  Saint  of  God.' 

His  voice  trembled  from  emotion,  and  his  face 
shone  in  the  night.  But  when  Astrid  saw  the 
light  that  surrounded  his  head,  she  arose.  For 
her  the  last  hope  had  faded. 

'  Now  I  will  go,'  she  said.  '  Now  thou  knowest 
whom  thou  art.  Thou  canst  never  more  bear 
me  at  thy  side.  But  think  gently  of  me.  With- 
out joy  or  happiness  have  I  lived  all  my  life.  In 
rags  have  I  gone ;  blows  have  I  endured.  For- 
give me  when  I  am  gone.  My  love  has  done  thee 
no  harm.' 

When  Astrid  in  silent  despair  crossed  over  the 
bridge,  Olaf  Haraldsson  awoke  from  his  ecstasy. 
He  hastened  after  her. 

'  Why  wilt  thou  go  ?  '  he  said.  '  Why  wilt 
thou  go  ?  ' 

'  Must  I  not  go  from  thee  when  thou  art  a 
Saint?'  she  whispered  scarcely  audibly. 

'  Thou  shalt  not  go.  Now  thou  canst  remain,' 
said  King  Olaf.  '  Before,  I  was  a  lowly  man  and 
must  fear  all  sin ;  a  poor  earthly  King  was  I, 
too  poor  to  bestow  on  thee  my  grace ;  but  now 
all  the  glory  of  Heaven  has  been  given  to  me.  Art 
thou  weak  ?  I  am  the  Lord's  knight.  Dost  thou 
fall?  I  can  lift  thee  up.  God  hath  chosen  me, 
Astrid.  Thou  canst  not  harm  me,  but  I  can  help 
thee.  Ah  !  what  am  I  saying  ?  In  this  hour  God 
hath  so  wholly  and  fully  shed  the  riches  of  His 
[217] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

love  in  my  heart  that  I  cannot  even  see  thou  hast 
done  wrong.' 

Gently  and  tenderly  he  lifted  up  the  trembling 
form,  and  whilst  lovingly  supporting  her,  who 
was  still  sobbing  and  who  could  hardly  stand 
upright,  he  and  Astrid  went  back  to  the  King's 
Castle. 


[2X8] 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 
III 

Old  Agnete 


Old  Agnete 

AN  old  woman  went  up  the  mountain-path 
with  short,  tripping  steps.  She  was  Httle 
and  thin.  Her  face  was  pale  and  wizened, 
but  neither  hard  nor  furrowed.  She  wore  a  long 
cloak  and  a  quilled  cap.  She  had  a  Prayer-Book 
in  her  hand  and  a  sprig  of  lavender  in  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

She  lived  in  a  hut  far  up  the  high  mountain 
where  no  trees  could  grow.  It  was  lying  quite 
close  to  the  edge  of  a  broad  glacier,  which  sent 
its  river  of  ice  from  the  snow-clad  mountain  peak 
into  the  depths  of  the  valley.  There  she  lived 
quite  alone.  All  those  who  had  belonged  to  her 
were  dead. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  she  had  been  to  church. 
But  whatever  might  be  the  cause,  her  going  there 
had  not  made  her  happy,  but  sorrowful.  The 
clergyman  had  spoken  about  death  and  the 
doomed,  and  that  had  affected  her.  She  had  sud- 
denly begun  to  think  of  how  she  had  heard  in 
her  childhood  that  many  of  the  doomed  were 
tormented  in  the  region  of  eternal  cold  on  the 
mountain  right  above  her  dwelling.  She  could 
remember  many  tales  about  these  wanderers  of 
the  glaciers — these  indefatigable  shadows  which 
were  hunted  from  place  to  place  by  the  icy 
mountain  winds. 

All   at   once  she   felt   a   great   terror   of  the 

[221] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

mountain,  and  thought  that  her  hut  was  dread- 
fully high  up.  Supposing  those  who  moved 
about  invisibly  there  wandered  down  the  glac- 
iers !  And  she  who  was  quite  alone !  The  word 
'  alone  '  gave  to  her  thoughts  a  still  sadder  turn. 
She  again  felt  the  full  burden  of  that  sorrow 
which  never  left  her.  She  thought  how  hard  it 
was  to  be  so  far  away  from  human  beings. 

'  Old  Agnete,'  she  said  aloud  to  herself,  as  she 
had  got  into  the  habit  of  doing  in  the  lonely 
waste,  '  you  sit  in  your  hut  and  spin,  and  spin. 
You  work  and  toil  all  the  hours  of  the  day  so 
as  not  to  perish  from  hunger.  But  is  there  any- 
one to  whom  you  give  any  pleasure  by  being 
alive?    Is  there  anyone,  old  Agnete?    If  any  of 

your  own  were  living Yes,  then,  perhaps, 

if  you  lived  nearer  the  village,  you  might  be  of 
some  use  to  somebody.  Poor  as  you  are,  you 
could  neither  take  dog  nor  cat  home  to  you, 
but  you  could  probably  now  and  then  give  a 
beggar  shelter.  You  ought  not  to  live  so  far 
away  from  the  highroad,  old  Agnete.  If  you 
could  only  once  in  a  while  give  a  thirsty  wayfarer 
a  drink,  then  you  would  know  that  it  was  of 
some  use  your  being  alive.' 

She  sighed,  and  said  to  herself  that  not  even 
the  peasant  women  who  gave  her  flax  to  spin 
would  mourn  her  death.  She  had  certainly 
striven  to  do  her  work  honestly  and  well,  but  no 
doubt  there  were  many  who  could  have  done  it 
better.  She  began  to  cry  bitterly,  when  the 
thought  struck  her  that  his  reverence,  who  had 
seen  her  sitting  in  the  same  place  in  church  for  so 
many,   many  years,  would   perhaps   think   it  a 

[  222  ] 


Old  AGNETE 

matter  of  perfect  indifference  whether  she  was 
dead  or  not. 

'  It  is  as  if  I  were  dead,'  she  said.  '  No  one 
asks  after  me.  I  would  just  as  well  lie  down 
and  die.  I  am  already  frozen  to  death  from  cold 
and  loneliness.  I  am  frozen  to  the  core  of  the 
heart,  I  am  indeed.  Ah  me !  ah  me !  '  she  said, 
now  she  had  been  set  a-thinking ;  '  if  there  were 
only  someone  who  really  needed  me,  there  might 
still  be  a  little  warmth  left  in  old  Agnete.  But 
I  cannot  knit  stockings  for  the  mountain  goats, 
or  make  the  beds  for  the  marmots,  can  I  ?  I 
tell  Thee,'  she  said,  stretching  our  her  hands 
towards  heaven,  '  something  Thou  must  give  me 
to  do,  or  I  shall  lay  me  down  and  die.' 

At  the  same  moment  a  tall,  stern  monk  came 
towards  her.  He  walked  by  her  side  because  he 
saw  that  she  was  sorrowful,  and  she  told  him 
about  her  troubles.  She  said  that  her  heart  was 
nearly  frozen  to  death,  and  that  she  would  be- 
come like  one  of  the  wanderers  on  the  glacier 
if  God  did  not  give  her  something  to  live  for. 

*  God  will  assuredly  do  that,'  said  the  monk. 

'  Do  you  not  see  that  God  is  powerless  here? ' 
old  Agnete  said.  '  Here  there  is  nothing  but 
an  empty,  barren  waste.' 

They  went  higher  and  higher  towards  the  snow 
mountains.  The  moss  spread  itself  softly  over 
the  stones ;  the  Alpine  herbs,  with  their  velvety 
leaves,  grew  along  the  pathway ;  the  mountain, 
with  its  rifts  and  precipices,  its  glaciers  and  snow- 
drifts, towered  above  them,  weighing  them  down. 
Then  the  monk  discovered  old  Agnete's  hut, 
right  below  the  glacier. 

[223] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'  Oh,'  he  said,  '  is  it  there  you  live  ?  Then  you 
are  not  alone  there ;  you  have  company  enough. 
Only  look ! ' 

The  monk  put  his  thumb  and  first  finger  to- 
gether, held  them  before  old  Agnete's  left  eye, 
and  bade  her  look  through  them  towards  the 
mountain.  But  old  Agnete  shuddered  and  closed 
her  eyes. 

'  If  there  is  anything  to  see  up  there,  then  I 
v^ill  not  look  on  any  account,'  she  said.  *  The 
Lord  preserve  us !  it  is  bad  enough  without  that.' 

'  Good-bye,  then,'  said  the  monk ;  *  it  is  not 
certain  that  you  will  be  permitted  to  see  such  a 
thing  a  second  time.' 

Old  Agnete  grew  curious ;  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  looked  towards  the  glacier.  At  first 
she  saw  nothing  remarkable,  but  soon  she  began 
to  discern  things  moving  about.  What  she  had 
taken  to  be  mist  and  vapour,  or  bluish-white 
shadows  on  the  ice,  were  multitudes  of  doomed 
souls,  tormented  in  the  eternal  cold. 

Poor  old  Agnete  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf. 
Everything  was  just  as  she  had  heard  it  described 
in  days  gone  by.  The  dead  wandered  about  there 
in  endless  anguish  and  pain.  Most  of  them  were 
shrouded  in  something  long  and  white,  but  all 
had  their  faces  and  their  hands  bared. 

They  could  not  be  counted,  there  was  such  a 
multitude.  The  longer  she  looked,  the  more 
there  appeared.  Some  walked  proud  and  erect, 
others  seemed  to  dance  over  the  glacier ;  but  she 
saw  that  they  all  cut  their  feet  on  the  sharp  and 
jagged  edges  of  the  ice. 

It  was  just  as  she  had  been  told.  She  saw  how 
[224  J 


OU  AGNETE 

they  constantly  huddled  close  together,  as  if  to 
warm  themselves,  but  immediately  drew  back 
again,  terrified  by  the  deathly  cold  which  ema- 
nated from  their  bodies. 

It  was  as  if  the  cold  of  the  mountain  came 
from  them,  as  if  it  were  they  who  prevented  the 
snow  from  melting  and  made  the  mist  so  pierc- 
ingly cold. 

They  were  not  all  moving;  some  stood  in  icy 
stoniness,  and  it  looked  as  if  they  had  been  stand- 
ing thus  for  years,  for  ice  and  snow  had  gathered 
around  them  so  that  only  the  upper  portion  of 
their  bodies  could  be  seen. 

The  longer  the  little  old  woman  gazed  the 
quieter  she  grew.  Fear  left  her,  and  she  was  only 
filled  with  sorrow  for  all  these  tormented  beings. 
There  was  no  abatement  in  their  pain,  no  rest  for 
their  torn  feet,  hurrying  over  ice  sharp  as  edged 
steel.  And  how  cold  they  were !  how  they  shiv- 
ered !  how  their  teeth  chattered  from  cold ! 
Those  who  were  petrified  and  those  who  could 
move,  all  suffered  alike  from  the  snarling,  biting, 
unbearable  cold. 

There  were  many  young  men  and  women  ;  but 
there  was  no  youth  in  their  faces,  blue  with  cold. 
It  looked  as  if  they  were  playing,  but  all  joy  was 
dead.  They  shivered,  and  were  huddled  up  like 
old  people. 

But  those  who  made  the  deepest  impression  on 
her  were  those  frozen  fast  in  the  hard  glacier, 
and  those  who  were  hanging  from  the  mountain- 
side like  great  icicles. 

Then  the  monk  removed  his  hand,  and  old 
Agnete   saw  only   the   barren,   empty   glaciers. 

[225] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Here  and  there  were  ice-mounds,  but  they  did 
not  surround  any  petrified  ghosts.  The  blue 
light  on  the  glacier  did  not  proceed  from  frozen 
bodies ;  the  wind  chased  the  snowflakes  before 
it,  but  not  any  ghosts. 

Still  old  Agnete  was  certain  that  she  had  really 
seen  all  this,  and  she  asked  the  monk : 

'  Is  it  permitted  to  do  anything  for  these  poor 
doomed  ones? ' 

He  answered : 

'  When  has  God  forbidden  Love  to  do  good 
or  Mercy  to  solace?  ' 

Then  the  monk  went  his  way,  and  old  Agnete 
went  to  her  hut  and  thought  it  all  over.  The 
whole  evening  she  pondered  how  she  could  help 
the  doomed  who  were  wandering  on  the  glaciers. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  years  she  had  been 
too  busy  to  think  of  her  loneliness. 

Next  morning  she  again  went  down  to  the 
village.  She  smiled,  and  was  well  content.  Old 
age  was  no  longer  so  heavy  a  burden.  '  The 
dead,'  she  said  to  herself,  '  do  not  care  so  much 
about  red  cheeks  and  light  steps.  They  only 
want  one  to  think  of  them  with  a  little  warmth. 
But  young  people  do  not  trouble  to  do  that.  Oh 
no,  oh  no.  How  should  the  dead  protect  them- 
selves from  the  terrible  coldness  of  death  did  not 
old  people  open  their  hearts  to  them? 

When  she  came  to  the  village  shop  she  bought 
a  large  package  of  candles,  and  from  a  peasant 
she  ordered  a  great  load  of  firewood ;  but  in 
order  to  pay  for  it  she  had  to  take  in  twice  as 
much  spinning  as  usual. 

Towards  evening,  when  she  got  home  again, 
[226] 


Old  AGNETE 

she  said  many  prayers,  and  tried  to  keep  up  her 
courage  by  singing-  hymns.  But  her  courage 
sank  more  and  more.  All  the  same,  she  did  what 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do. 

She  moved  her  bed  into  the  inner  room  of  her 
hut.  In  the  front  room  she  made  a  big  fire  and 
lighted  it.  In  the  window  she  placed  two  can- 
dles, and  left  the  outer  door  wide  open.  Then 
she  went  to  bed. 

She  lay  in  the  darkness  and  listened. 

Yes,  there  certainly  was  a  step.  It  was  as  if 
someone  had  come  gliding  down  the  glacier.  It 
came  heavily,  moaning.  It  crept  round  the  hut 
as  if  it  dared  not  come  in.  Close  to  the  wall  it 
stood  and  shivered. 

Old  Agnete  could  not  bear  it  any  longer.  She 
sprang  out  of  bed,  went  into  the  outer  room  and 
closed  the  door.  It  was  too  much ;  flesh  and 
blood  could  not  stand  it. 

Outside  the  hut  she  heard  deep  sighs  and  drag- 
ging steps,  as  of  sore,  wounded  feet.  They 
dragged  themselves  away  further  and  further  up 
the  icy  glacier.  Now  and  again  she  also  heard 
sobs ;  but  soon  everything  was  quiet. 

Then  old  Agnete  was  beside  herself  with  anxi- 
ety. '  You  are  a  coward,  you  silly  old  thing,' 
she  said.  '  Both  the  fire  and  the  lights,  which 
cost  so  much,  are  burning  out.  Shall  it  all  have 
been  done  in  vain  because  you  are  such  a  mis- 
erable coward?'  And  when  she  had  said  this 
she  got  out  of  bed  again,  crying  from  fear,  with 
chattering  teeth,  and  shivering  all  over  ;  but  into 
the  other  room  she  went,  and  the  door  she 
opened. 

[227I 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Again  she  lay  and  waited.  Now  she  \yas  no 
fonger  frightened  that  they  should  come.  She 
was  only  afraid  lest  she  had  scared  them  away, 
and  that  they  dared  not  come  back. 

And  as  she  lay  there  in  the  darkness  she  began 
to  call  just  as  she  used  to  do  in  her  young  days 
when  she  was  tending  the  sheep. 

'  My  little  white  lambs,  my  lambs  in  the 
mountains,  come,  come !  Come  down  from  rift 
and  precipice,  my  little  white  lambs !  ' 

Then  it  seemed  as  if  a  cold  wind  from  the 
mountain  came  rushing  into  the  room.  She 
heard  neither  step  nor  sob,  only  gusts  of  wind 
that  came  rushing  along  the  walls  of  the  hut  into 
the  room.  And  it  sounded  as  if  someone  were 
continually  saying: 

'  Hush,  hush !  Don't  frighten  her !  don't 
frighten  her !  don't  frighten  her !  ' 

She  had  a  feeling  as  if  the  outside  room  was 
so  overcrowded  that  they  were  being  crushed 
against  the  walls,  and  that  the  walls  were  giving 
way.  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  they  would  lift 
the  roof  in  order  to  gain  more  room.  But  the 
whole  time  there  were  whispers : 

'Hush,  hush!  Don't  frighten  her!  don't 
frighten  her !  ' 

Then  old  Agnete  felt  happy  and  peaceful.  She 
folded  her  hands  and  fell  asleep.  In  the  morn- 
ing it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  had  been  a  dream. 
Everything  looked  as  usual  in  the  outer  room  ; 
the  fire  had  burnt  out,  and  so  had  the  candles. 
There  was  not  a  vestige  of  tallow  left  in  the 
candlesticks. 

As  long  as  old  Agnete  lived  she  continued  to 
[228] 


Old  AGNETE 

do  this.  She  spun  and  worked  so  that  she  could 
keep  her  fire  burning  every  night.  And  she  was 
happy  because  someone  needed  her. 

Then  one  Sunday  she  was  not  in  her  usual  seat 
in  the  church.  Two  peasants  went  up  to  her  hut 
to  see  if  there  was  anything  the  matter.  She  was 
already  dead,  and  they  carried  her  body  down 
to  the  village  to  bury  it. 

When,  the  following  Sunday,  her  funeral  took 
place,  just  before  Mass,  there  were  but  few  who 
followed,  neither  did  one  see  grief  on  any  face. 
But  suddenly,  just  as  the  coffin  was  being  low- 
ered into  the  grave,  a  tall,  stern  monk  came  into 
the  churchyard,  and  he  stood  still  and  pointed 
to  the  snow-clad  mountains.  Then  they  saw  the 
whole  mountain-ridge  shining  in  a  red  light  as 
if  Hghted  with  joy,  and  round  it  wound  a  pro- 
cession of  small  yellow  flames,  looking  like 
burning  candles.  And  these  flames  numbered 
as  many  as  the  candles  which  old  Agnete  had 
burned  for  the  doomed.  Then  people  said : 
'  Praise  the  Lord !  She  whom  no  one  mourns 
here  below  has  all  the  same  found  friends  in  the 
solitude  above  '  ' 


(229] 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

IV 

The  Fisherman  s  Ring 


The  Fisherman' f  Ring 

DURING  the  reign  of  the  Doge  Gradeni- 
gos  there  Hved  in  Venice  an  old  fish- 
erman, Cecco  by  name.  He  had  been  an 
unusually  strong  man,  and  was  still  very  strong 
for  his  age,  but  lately  he  had  given  up  work  and 
left  it  to  his  two  sons  to  provide  for  him.  He  was 
very  proud  of  his  sons,  and  he  loved  them — ah, 
signor,  how  he  loved  them ! 

Fate  had  so  ordered  it  that  their  bringing  up 
had  been  almost  entirely  left  to  him.  Their 
mother  had  died  early,  and  so  Cecco  had  to  take 
care  of  them.  He  had  looked  after  their  clothes 
and  cooked  their  food ;  he  had  sat  in  the  boat 
with  needle  and  cotton  and  mended  and  darned. 
He  had  not  cared  in  the  least  that  people  had 
laughed  at  him  on  that  account.  He  had  also, 
quite  alone,  taught  them  all  it  was  necessary  for 
them  to  know.  He  had  made  a  couple  of  able 
fishermen  of  them,  and  taught  them  to  honour 
God  and  San  Marco. 

'  Always  remember,'  he  said  to  them,  '  that 
Venice  will  never  be  able  to  stand  in  her  own 
strength.  Look  at  her!  Has  she  not  been  built 
on  the  waves?  Look  at  the  low  islands  close  to 
land,  where  the  sea  plays  amongst  the  seaweed. 
You  would  not  venture  to  tread  upon  them,  and 
yet  it  is  upon  such  foundation  that  the  whole 
city  rests.  And  do  you  not  know  that  the  north 
wind  has  strength  enough  to  throw  both 
[233] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

churches  and  palaces  into  the  sea?  Do  you  not 
know  that  we  have  such  powerful  enemies,  that 
all  the  princes  in  Christendom  cannot  vanquish 
them  ?  Therefore  you  must  always  pray  to  San 
Marco,  for  in  his  strong  hands  rests  the  chains 
which  hold  Venice  suspended  over  the  depths  of 
the  sea.' 

And  in  the  evening,  when  the  moon  shed  its 
light  over  Venice,  greenish-blue  from  the  sea- 
mist  ;  when  they  quietly  glided  up  the  Canale 
Grande  and  the  gondolas  they  met  were  full  of 
singers ;  when  the  palaces  shone  in  their  white 
splendour,  and  thousands  of  lights  mirrored 
themselves  in  the  dark  waters — then  he  always 
reminded  them  that  they  must  thank  San  Marco 
for  life  and  happiness. 

But  oh,  signor !  he  did  not  forget  him  in  the 
daytime  either.  When  they  returned  from  fish- 
ing and  glided  over  the  water  of  the  lagoons, 
light-blue  and  golden ;  when  the  city  lay  before 
them,  swimming  on  the  waves ;  when  the  great 
ships  passed  in  and  out  of  the  harbour,  and  the 
palace  of  the  Doges  shone  like  a  huge  jewel- 
casket,  holding  all  the  world's  treasure — then  he 
never  forgot  to  tell  them  that  all  these  things 
were  the  gift  of  San  Marco,  and  that  they  would 
all  vanish  if  a  single  Venetian  were  ungrateful 
enough  to  give  up  believing  in  and  adoring  him. 

Then,  one  day,  the  sons  went  out  fishing  on 
the  open  sea,  outside  Lido.  They  were  in  com- 
pany with  several  others,  had  a  splendid  vessel, 
and  intended  being  away  several  days.  The 
weather  was  fine,  and  they  hoped  for  a  goodly 
haul. 

[234] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

They  left  the  Rialto,  the  large  island  where  the 
city  proper  lies,  one  early  morning,  and  as  they 
passed  through  the  lagoons  they  saw  all  the 
islands  which,  like  fortifications,  protect  Venice 
against  the  sea,  appear  through  the  mist  of  the 
morning.  There  were  La  Gindecca  and  San 
Giorgio  on  the  right,  and  San  Michele,  Muracco 
and  San  Lazzaro  on  the  left.  Then  island  fol- 
lowed upon  island  in  a  large  circle,  right  on  to 
the  long  Lido  lying  straight  before  them,  and 
forming,  as  it  were,  the  clasp  of  this  string  of 
pearls.  And  beyond  Lido  was  the  wide,  infinite 
sea. 

When  they  were  well  at  sea,  some  of  them  got 
into  a  small  boat  and  rowed  out  to  set  their  nets. 
It  was  still  fine  weather,  although  the  waves  were 
higher  here  than  inside  the  islands.  None  of 
them,  however,  dreamt  of  any  danger.  They  had 
a  good  boat  and  were  experienced  men.  But 
soon  those  left  on  the  vessel  saw  that  the  sea  and 
the  sky  suddenly  grew  darker  in  the  north.  They 
understood  that  a  storm  was  coming  on,  and  they 
at  once  shouted  to  their  comrades,  but  they  were 
already  too  far  away  to  hear  them. 

The  wind  first  reached  the  small  boat.  When 
the  fishermen  suddenly  saw  the  waves  rise  around 
them,  as  herds  of  cattle  on  a  large  plain  arise 
in  the  morning,  one  of  the  men  in  the  boat  stood 
up  and  beckoned  to  his  comrades,  but  the  same 
moment  he  fell  backwards  into  the  sea.  Imme- 
diately afterwards  a  wave  came  which  raised  the 
boat  on  her  bows,  and  one  could  see  how  the 
men,  as  it  were,  were  shaken  from  ofT  their  seats 
and  flung  into  the  sea.  It  only  lasted  a  moment, 
[235] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

and  everything  had  disappeared.  Then  the  boat 
again  appeared,  keel  upwards.  The  men  in  the 
vessel  tried  to  reach  the  spot,  but  could  not  tack 
against  the  wind. 

It  was  a  terrific  storm  which  came  rushing 
over  the  sea,  and  soon  the  fishermen  in  the  vessel 
had  their  work  set  to  save  themselves.  They  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  home  safely,  however,  and 
brought  with  them  the  news  of  the  disaster.  It 
was  Cecco's  two  sons  and  three  others  who  had 
perished. 

Ah  me !  how  strangely  things  come  about ! 
The  same  morning  Cecco  had  gone  down  to 
the  Rialto  to  the  fish-market.  He  went  about 
amongst  the  stands  and  strutted  about  like  a  fine 
gentleman  because  he  had  no  need  to  work. 
He  even  invited  a  couple  of  old  Lido  fishermen 
to  an  asteri  and  stood  them  a  beaker  of  wine. 
He  grew  very  important  as  he  sat  there  and 
bragged  and  boasted  about  his  sons.  His  spirits 
lose  high,  and  he  took  out  the  zecchine — the 
one  the  Doge  had  given  him  when  he  had  saved  a 
child  from  drowning  in  Canale  Grande.  He  was 
very  proud  of  this  large  gold  coin,  carried  it  al- 
ways about  him,  and  showed  it  to  people  when- 
ever there  was  an  opportunity. 

Suddenly  a  man  entered  the  asteri  and  began 
to  tell  about  the  disaster,  without  noticing  that 
Cecco  was  sitting  there.  But  he  had  not  been 
speaking  long  before  Cecco  threw  himself  over 
him  and  seized  him  by  the  throat. 

'  You  do  not  dare  to  tell  me  that  they  are 
dead  ! '  he  shrieked — *  not  my  sons  !  ' 

The  man  succeeded  in  getting  away  from  him, 
[236] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

but  Cecco  for  a  Ion_£^  time  went  on  as  if  he  were 
out  of  his  mind.  People  heard  him  shout  and 
groan ;  they  crowded  into  the  asteri — as  many 
as  it  could  hold — and  stood  round  him  in  a  circle 
as  if  he  were  a  juggler. 

Cecco  sat  on  the  floor  and  moaned.  He  hit 
the  hard  stone  floor  with  his  fist,  and  said  over 
and  over  again : 

'  It  is  San  Marco,  San  Marco,  San  Marco ! ' 

'  Cecco,  you  have  taken  leave  of  your  senses 
from  grief,'  they  said  to  him. 

'  I  knew  it  would  happen  on  the  open  sea,' 
Cecco  said ;  '  outside  Lido  and  Malamocco, 
there,  I  knew  it  would  happen.  There  San 
Marco  would  take  them.  He  bore  them  a 
grudge.  I  have  feared  it,  boy.  Yes,'  he  said, 
without  hearing  what  they  said  to  quiet  him, 
'  they  once  laughed  at  him,  once  when  we  were 
lying  outside  Lido.  He  has  not  forgotten  it ;  he 
will  not  stand  being  laughed  at.' 

He  looked  with  confused  glances  at  the  by- 
standers, as  if  to  seek  help. 

*  Look  here,  Beppo  from  Malamocca,'  he  said, 
stretching  out  his  hand  towards  a  big  fisherman, 
'  don't  you  believe  it  was  San  Marco? ' 

'  Don't  imagine  any  such  thing,  Cecco.' 

'  Now  you  shall  hear,  Beppo,  how  it  happened. 
You  see,  we  were  lying  out  at  sea,  and  to  while 
away  the  time  I  told  them  how  San  Marco  had 
come  to  Venice.  The  evangelist  San  Marco 
was  first  buried  in  a  beautiful  cathedral  at  Alex- 
andria in  Egypt.  But  the  town  got  into  the 
possession  of  unbelievers,  and  one  day  the 
Khalifa  ordered  that  they  should  build  him  a 
[237] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

magnificent  palace  at  Alexandria,  and  take  some 
columns  from  the  Christian  churches  for  its 
decoration.  But  just  at  that  time  there  were 
two  Venetian  merchants  at  Alexandria  who  had 
ten  heavily-laden  vessels  lying  in  the  harbour. 
When  these  men  entered  the  church  where  San 
Marco  was  buried  and  heard  the  command  of  the 
Khalifa,  they  said  to  the  sorrowful  priests : 
"  The  precious  body  which  you  have  in  your 
church  may  be  desecrated  by  the  Saracens.  Give 
it  to  us ;  we  will  honour  it,  for  San  Marco  was 
the  first  to  preach  on  the  Lagoon,  and  the  Doge 
will  reward  you."  And  the  priests  gave  their 
consent,  and  in  order  that  the  Christians  of  Alex- 
andria should  not  object,  the  body  of  another 
holy  man  was  placed  in  the  Evangelist's  coffin. 
But  to  prevent  the  Saracens  from  getting  any 
news  of  the  removal  of  the  body,  it  was  placed 
at  the  bottom  of  a  large  chest,  and  above  it  were 
packed  hams  and  smoked  bacon,  which  the 
Saracens  could  not  endure.  So  when  the  Cus- 
tom-house officers  opened  the  lid  of  the  chest, 
they  at  once  hurried  away.  The  two  merchants, 
however,  brought  San  Marco  safely  to  Venice ; 
you  know,  Beppo,  that  this  is  what  they  say.' 

'  I  do,  Cecco.' 

'  Yes ;  but  just  listen  now,'  and  Cecco  half 
arose,  and  in  his  fear  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 
'  Something  terrible  now  happened.  When  I  told 
the  boys  that  the  holy  man  had  been  hidden 
imderneath  the  bacon,  they  burst  out  laughing. 
I  tried  to  hush  them,  but  they  only  laughed  the 
louder.  Giacomo  was  lying  on  his  stomach  in 
the  bows,  and  Pietro  sat  with  his  legs  dangling 
[238] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

outside  the  boat,  and  they  both  laughed  so  that 
it  could  be  heard  far  out  over  the  sea.' 

'  But,  Cecco,  surely  two  children  may  be  al- 
lowed to  laugh.' 

'  But  don't  you  understand  that  is  where  they 
have  perished  to-day — on  the  very  spot  ?  Or  can 
you  understand  why  they  should  have  lost  their 
lives  on  that  spot  ? ' 

Now  they  all  began  to  talk  to  him  and  com- 
fort him.  It  was  his  grief  which  made  him  lose 
his  senses.  This  was  not  like  San  Marco.  He 
would  not  revenge  himself  upon  two  children. 
Was  it  not  natural  that  when  a  boat  was  caught 
in  a  storm  this  would  happen  on  the  open  sea 
and  not  in  the  harbour? 

Surely  his  sons  had  not  Hved  in  enmity  with 
San  Marco.  They  had  heard  them  shout,  '  Eviva 
San  Marco! '  as  eagerly  as  all  the  others,  and  had 
he  not  protected  them  to  this  very  day.  He  had 
never,  during  the  years  that  had  passed,  shown 
any  sign  of  being  angry  with  them. 

'  But,  Cecco,'  they  said,  *  you  will  bring  mis- 
fortune upon  us  with  your  talk  about  San  Marco. 
You,  who  are  an  old  man  and  a  wise  man,  should 
know  better  than  to  raise  his  anger  against  the 
Venetians.    What  are  we  without  him  ? ' 

Cecco  sat  and  looked  at  them  bewildered. 

'  Then  you  don't  believe  it?  ' 

'  No  one  in  his  senses  would  believe  such  a 
thing.' 

It  looked  as  if  they  had  succeeded  in  quiet- 
ing him. 

'  I  will  also  try  not  to  believe  it,'  he  said.  He 
rose  and  walked  towards  the  door.  '  It  would  be 
[239] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

too  cruel,  would  it  not  ?  '  he  said.  '  They  were 
too  handsome  and  too  brave  for  anyone  to  hate 
them  ;  I  will  not  believe  it.' 

He  went  home,  and  in  the  narrow  street  out- 
side his  door  he  met  an  old  woman,  one  of  his 
neighbours. 

'  They  are  reading  a  Mass  in  the  cathedral  for 
the  souls  of  the  dead,'  she  said  to  Cecco,  and 
hurried  away.  She  was  afraid  of  him  ;  he  looked 
so  strange. 

Cecco  took  his  boat  and  made  his  way  through 
the  small  canals  down  to  Riva  degli  Schiavoni. 
There  was  a  wide  view  from  there ;  he  looked 
towards  Lido  and  the  sea.  Yes,  it  was  a  hard 
wind,  but  not  a  storm  by  any  means ;  there 
were  hardly  any  waves.  And  his  sons  had  per- 
ished in  weather  like  this  !    It  was  inconceivable. 

He  fastened  his  boat,  and  went  across  the 
Piazetta  and  the  Market  Place  into  San  Marco. 
There  were  many  people  in  the  church,  and  they 
were  all  kneeling  and  praying  in  great  fear;  for 
it  is  much  more  terrible  for  the  Venetians,  you 
know,  than  any  other  people  when  there  is  a 
disaster  at  sea.  They  do  not  get  their  living 
from  vineyards  or  fields,  but  they  are  all,  every- 
one of  them,  dependent  on  the  sea.  Whenever 
the  sea  rose  against  any  one  of  them  they  were 
all  afraid,  and  hurried  to  San  Marco  to  pray  to 
him  for  protection. 

As  soon  as  Cecco  entered  the  cathedral  he 
stopped.  He  thought  of  how  he  had  brought 
his  little  sons  there,  and  taught  them  to  pray  to 
San  Marco.  *  It  is  he  who  carries  us  over  the 
sea,  who  opens  the  gates  of  Byzance  for  us  and 
[240] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

gives  us  the  supremacy  over  the  islands  of  the 
East,'  he  said  to  them.  Out  of  gratitude  for  all 
this  the  Venetians  had  built  San  Marco  the  most 
beautiful  temple  in  the  world,  and  no  vessel  ever 
returned  from  a  foreign  port  without  bringing  a 
gift  for  San  Marco. 

Then  they  had  admired  the  red  marble  walls 
of  the  cathedral  and  the  golden  mosaic  ceiling. 
It  was  as  if  no  misfortune  could  befall  a  city  that 
had  such  a  sanctuary  for  her  patron  Saint. 

Cecco  quickly  knelt  down  and  began  to  pray, 
the  one  Paternoster  after  the  other.  It  came 
back,  he  felt.  He  would  send  it  away  by  pray- 
ers. He  would  not  beHeve  anything  bad  about 
San  Marco. 

But  it  had  been  no  storm  at  all.  And  so  much 
was  certain,  that  even  if  the  Saint  had  not  sent 
the  storm,  he  had,  in  any  case,  not  done  any- 
thing to  help  Cecco's  sons,  but  had  allowed  them 
to  perish  as  if  by  accident.  When  this  thought 
came  upon  him  he  began  to  pray ;  but  the 
thought  would  not  leave  him. 

And  to  think  that  San  Marco  had  a  treasury 
in  this  cathedral  full  of  all  the  glories  of  fairyland  ! 
To  think  that  he  had  himself  prayed  to  him  all 
his  life,  and  had  never  rowed  past  the  Piazetta 
without  going  into  the  cathedral  to  invoke  him ! 

Surely  it  was  not  by  a  mere  accident  that  his 
sons  had  to-day  perished  on  the  sea!  Oh,  it 
was  miserable  for  the  Venetians  to  have  no  one 
better  to  depend  upon !  Just  fancy  a  Saint  who 
revenged  himself  upon  two  children — a  patron 
Saint  who  could  not  protect  against  a  gust  of 
wind ! 

[241  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

He  stood  up,  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  disparagingly  waved  his  hand  when  he 
looked  towards  the  tomb  of  the  Saint  in  the 
chancel. 

A  verger  was  going  about  with  a  large  chased 
silver-gilt  dish,  collecting  gifts  for  San  Marco. 
He  went  from  the  one  person  to  the  other,  and 
also  came  to  Cecco. 

Cecco  drew  back  as  if  it  were  the  Evil  One  him- 
self who  handed  him  the  plate.  Did  San  Marco 
ask  for  gifts  from  him  ?  Did  he  think  he  deserved 
gifts  from  him  ? 

All  at  once  he  seized  the  large  golden  zecchine 
he  had  in  his  belt,  and  flung  it  into  the  plate  with 
such  violence  that  the  ring  of  it  could  be  heard 
all  over  the  church.  It  disturbed  those  who  were 
praying,  and  made  them  turn  round.  And  all 
who  saw  Cecco's  face  were  terrified  ;  he  looked  as 
if  he  were  possessed  of  evil  spirits. 

Cecco  immediately  left  the  church,  and  at  first 
felt  it  as  a  great  relief  that  he  had  been  revenged 
upon  the  Saint.  He  had  treated  him  as  one  treats 
a  usurer  who  demands  more  than  he  is  entitled  to. 
*  Take  this  too,'  one  says,  and  throws  his  last  gold 
piece  in  the  fellow's  face  so  that  the  blood  runs 
down  over  his  eyes.  But  the  usurer  does  not 
strike  again — simply  stoops  and  picks  up  the  zec- 
chine. So,  too,  had  San  Marco  done.  He  had  ac- 
cepted Cecco's  zecchine,  having  first  robbed  him 
of  his  sons.  Cecco  had  made  him  accept  a  gift 
which  had  been  tendered  with  such  bitter  hatred. 
Would  an  honourable  man  have  put  up  with  such 
treatment?  But  San  Marco  was  a  coward — both 
cowardly  and  revengeful.  But  he  was  not  likely 
[242] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

to  revenge  himself  upon  Cecco.  He  was,  no 
doubt,  pleased  and  thankful  he  had  got  the 
zecchine.  He  simply  accepted  it  and  pretended 
that  it  had  been  given  as  piously  as  could  be. 

When  Cecco  stood  at  the  entrance,  two  vergers 
quickly  passed  him. 

'  It  rises — it  rises  terribly !  '  the  one  said. 

'  What  rises  ?  '  asked  Cecco. 

'  The  water  in  the  crypt.  It  has  risen  a  foot  in 
the  last  two  or  three  minutes.' 

When  Cecco  went  down  the  steps,  he  saw  a 
small  pool  of  water  on  the  Market  Place  close  to 
the  bottom  step.  It  was  sea-water,  which  had 
splashed  up  from  the  Piazetta.  He  was  surprised 
that  the  sea  had  risen  so  high,  and  he  hurried 
down  to  the  Riva,  where  his  boat  lay.  Every- 
thing was  as  he  had  left  it,  only  the  water  had 
risen  considerably.  It  came  rolling  in  broad 
waves  through  the  five  sea-gates ;  but  the  wind 
was  not  very  strong.  At  the  Riva  there  were  al- 
ready pools  of  sea-water,  and  the  canals  rose  so 
that  the  doors  in  the  houses  facing  the  water  had 
to  be  closed.    The  sky  was  all  gray  like  the  sea. 

It  never  struck  Cecco  that  it  might  grow  into 
a  serious  storm.  He  would  not  believe  any  such 
thing.  San  Marco  had  allowed  his  sons  to  perish 
without  cause.  He  felt  sure  this  was  no  real 
storm.  He  would  just  like  to  see  if  it  would  be  a 
storm,  and  he  sat  down  beside  his  boat  and 
waited. 

Then  suddenly  rifts  appeared  in  the  dull-gray 
clouds  which  covered  the  sky.  The  clouds  were 
torn  asunder  and  flung  aside,  and  large  storm- 
clouds  came  rushing,  black  like  warships,  and 
[243] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

from  them  scourging  rain  and  hail  fell  upon  the 
city.  And  something  like  quite  a  new  sea  came 
surging  in  from  Lido.  Ah,  signer!  they  were 
not  the  swan-necked  waves  you  have  seen  out 
there,  the  waves  that  bend  their  transparent  necks 
and  hasten  towards  the  shore,  and  which,  when 
they  are  pitilessly  repulsed,  float  away  again  with 
their  white  foam-hair  dispersed  over  the  surface 
of  the  sea.  These  were  dark  waves,  chasing  each 
other  in  furious  rage,  and  over  their  tops  the  bitter 
froth  of  the  sea  was  whipped  into  mist. 

The  wind  was  now  so  strong  that  the  seagulls 
could  no  longer  continue  their  quiet  flight,  but, 
shrieking,  were  thrust  from  their  course.  Cecco 
soon  saw  them  with  much  trouble  making  their 
way  towards  the  sea,  so  as  not  to  be  caught  by 
the  storm  and  flung  against  the  walls.  Hundreds 
of  pigeons  on  San  Marco's  square  flew  up,  beat- 
ing their  wings,  so  that  it  sounded  like  a  new 
storm,  and  hid  themselves  away  in  all  the  nooks 
and  corners  of  the  church  roof. 

But  it  was  not  the  birds  alone  that  were  fright- 
ened by  the  storm.  A  couple  of  gondolas  had  al- 
ready got  loose,  and  were  thrown  against  the 
shore,  and  were  nearly  shattered.  And  now  all 
the  gondoliers  came  rushing  to  pull  their  boats 
into  the  boathouses,  or  place  them  in  shelter  in 
the  small  canals. 

The  sailors  on  the  ships  lying  in  the  harbour 
worked  with  the  anchor-chains  to  make  the  ves- 
sels fast,  in  order  to  prevent  them  drifting  on  to 
the  shore.  They  took  down  the  clothes  hang- 
ing up  to  dry,  pulled  their  long  caps  well  over 
their  foreheads,  and  began  to  collect  all  the  loose 
[244] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

articles  lying  about  in  order  to  bring  them  below 
deck.  Outside  Canale  Grande  a  whole  fishing- 
fleet  came  hurrying  home.  All  the  people  from 
Lido  and  Malamocco  who  had  sold  their  goods 
at  the  Rialto  were  rushing  homewards,  before  the 
storm  grew  too  violent. 

Cecco  laughed  when  he  saw  the  fishermen 
bending  over  their  oars  and  straining  themselves 
as  if  they  were  fleeing  from  death  itself.  Could 
they  not  see  that  it  was  only  a  gust  of  wind? 
They  could  very  well  have  remained  and  given 
the  Venetian  women  time  to  buy  all  their  cattle, 
fish,  and  crabs. 

He  was  certainly  not  going  to  pull  his  boat  into 
shelter,  although  the  storm  was  now  violent 
enough  for  any  ordinary  man  to  have  taken  no- 
tice of  it.  The  floating  bridges  were  lifted  up  high 
and  cast  on  to  the  shore,  whilst  the  washerwomen 
hurried  home  shrieking.  The  broad-brimmed 
hats  of  the  signors  were  blown  ofif  into  the  canals, 
from  whence  the  street-boys  fished  them  out  with 
great  glee.  Sails  were  torn  from  the  masts,  and 
fluttered  in  the  air  with  a  cracking  sound ;  chil- 
dren were  knocked  down  by  the  strong  wind  ;  and 
the  clothes  hanging  on  the  lines  in  the  narrow 
streets  were  torn  to  rags  and  carried  far  away. 

Cecco  laughed  at  the  storm — a  storm  which 
drove  the  birds  away,  and  played  all  sorts  of 
pranks  in  the  street,  like  a  boy.  But,  all  the  same, 
he  pulled  his  boat  under  one  of  the  arches  of  the 
bridge.  One  could  really  not  allow  what  that 
wind  might  take  it  into  its  head  to  do. 

In  the  evening  Cecco  thought  that  it  would 
have  been  fun  to  have  been  out  at  sea.  It  would 
[245] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

have  been  splendid  sailing  with  such  a  fresh 
wind.  But  on  shore  it  was  unpleasant.  Chimneys 
were  blown  down  ;  the  roofs  of  the  boathouses 
were  lifted  right  ofY ;  it  rained  tiles  from  the 
houses  into  the  canals ;  the  wind  shook  the  doors 
and  the  window-shutters,  rushed  in  under  the 
open  loggias  of  the  palaces  and  tore  ofif  the  deco- 
rations. 

Cecco  held  out  bravely,  but  he  did  not  go  home 
to  bed.  He  could  not  take  the  boat  home  with 
him,  so  it  was  better  to  remain  and  look  after  it. 
But  when  anyone  went  by  and  said  that  it  was 
terrible  weather  he  would  not  admit  it.  He  had 
experienced  very  different  weather  in  his  young 
days. 

'  Storm !  '  he  said  to  himself — '  call  this  a 
storm?  And  they  think,  perhaps,  that  it  began 
the  same  moment  I  threw  the  zecchine  to  San 
Marco.    As  if  he  can  command  a  real  storm  !  ' 

When  night  came  the  wind  and  the  sea  grew 
still  more  violent,  so  that  Venice  trembled  in  her 
foundations.  Doge  Gradenigo  and  the  Gentle- 
men of  the  High  Council  went  in  the  darkness  of 
the  night  to  San  Marco  to  pray  for  the  city. 
Torch-bearers  went  before  them,  and  the  flames 
were  spread  out  by  the  wind,  so  that  they  lay  fiat, 
like  pennants.  The  wind  tore  the  Doge's  heavy 
brocade  gown,  so  that  two  men  were  obliged  to 
hold  it. 

Cecco  thought  this  was  the  most  remarkable 
thing  he  had  ever  seen — Doge  Gradenigo  going 
himself  to  the  cathedral  on  account  of  this  bit  of 
a  wind !  What  would  those  people  have  done  if 
there  had  been  a  real  storm  ? 
[246] 


The   Fisherman' i   RING 

The  waves  beat  incessantly  against  the  bul- 
warks. In  the  darkness  of  the  night  it  was  as  if 
white-headed  wresters  sprang  up  from  the  deep, 
and  with  teeth  and  claws  clung  fast  to  the  piles  to 
tear  them  loose  from  the  shore.  Cecco  fancied 
he  could  hear  their  angry  snorts  when  they  were 
hurled  back  again.  But  he  shuddered  when  he 
heard  them  come  again  and  again,  and  tear  in  the 
bulwarks. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  storm  was  far  more 
terrible  in  the  night.  He  heard  shouts  in  the  air, 
and  that  was  not  the  wind.  Sometimes  black 
clouds  came  drifting  like  a  whole  row  of  heavy 
galleys,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  advanced  to  make 
an  assault  on  the  city.  Then  he  heard  distinctly 
someone  speaking  in  one  of  the  riven  clouds  over 
his  head. 

'  Things  look  bad  for  Venice  now,'  it  said  from 
the  one  cloud.  '  Soon  our  brothers  the  evil  Spirits 
will  come  and  overthrow  the  city.' 

'  I  am  afraid  San  Marco  will  not  allow  it  to 
happen,'  came  as  a  response  from  the  other  cloud. 

'  San  Marco  has  been  knocked  down  by  a 
Venetian,  so  he  lies  powerless,  and  cannot  help 
anyone,'  said  tlie  first. 

The  storm  carried  the  words  down  to  old  Cecco, 
and  from  that  moment  he  was  on  his  knees,  pray- 
ing San  Marco  for  grace  and  forgiveness.  For 
the  evil  spirits  had  spoken  the  truth.  It  did  in- 
deed look  bad  for  Venice.  The  fair  Queen  of  the 
Isles  was  near  destruction.  A  Venetian  had 
mocked  San  Marco,  and  therefore  Venice  was  in 
danger  of  being  carried  away  by  the  sea.  There 
would  be  no  more  moonlight  sails  or  her  sea  and 
[247] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

in  her  canals,  and  no  more  barcaroles  would  be 
heard  from  her  black  gondolas.  The  sea  would 
wash  over  the  golden-haired  signoras,  over  the 
proud  palaces,  over  San  Marco,  resplendent  with 
gold. 

If  there  was  no  one  to  protect  these  islands, 
they  were  doomed  to  destruction.  Before  San 
Marco  came  to  Venice  it  had  often  happened  that 
large  portions  of  them  had  been  washed  away  by 
the  waves. 

At  early  dawn  San  Marco's  Church  bells  began 
to  ring.  People  crept  to  the  church,  their  clothes 
being  nearly  torn  off  them. 

The  storm  went  on  increasing.  The  priests  had 
resolved  to  go  out  and  adjure  the  storm  and  the 
sea.  The  main  doors  of  the  cathedral  were 
opened,  and  the  long  procession  streamed  out  of 
the  church.  Foremost  the  cross  was  carried,  then 
came  the  choir-boys  with  wax  candles,  and  last  in 
the  procession  were  carried  the  banner  of  San 
Marco  and  the  Sacred  Host. 

But  the  storm  did  not  allow  itself  to  be  cowed ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  was  as  if  it  wished  for  nothing 
better  to  play  with.  It  upset  the  choir-boys,  blew 
out  the  wax  candles,  and  fiung  the  baldachin, 
which  was  carried  over  the  Host,  on  to  the  top  of 
the  Doge's  palace.  It  was  with  the  utmost  trouble 
that  they  saved  San  Marco's  banner,  with  the 
winged  lion,  from  being  carried  away. 

Cecco  saw  all  this,  and  stole  down  to  his  boat 
moaning  loudly.  The  whole  day  he  lay  near  the 
shore,  often  wet  by  the  waves  and  in  danger  of 
being  washed  into  the  sea.  The  whole  day  he 
was  praying  incessantly  to  God  and  San  Marco. 
[248] 


The  Fisherman's   RING 

He  felt  that  the  fate  of  the  whole  city  depended 
upon  his  prayers. 

There  were  not  many  people  about  that  day, 
but  some  few  went  moaning  along  the  Riva.  All 
spoke  about  the  immeasurable  damage  the  storm 
had  wrought.  One  could  see  the  houses  tum- 
bling down  on  the  Murano.  It  was  as  if  the  whole 
island  were  under  water.  And  also  on  the  Rialto 
one  or  two  houses  had  fallen. 

The  storm  continued  the  whole  day  with  un- 
abated violence.  In  the  evening  a  large  multi- 
tude of  people  assembled  at  the  Market  Place  and 
the  Piazetta,  although  these  were  nearly  covered 
with  water.  People  dared  not  remain  in  their 
houses,  which  shook  in  their  very  foundations. 
And  the  cries  of  those  who  feared  disaster  min- 
gled with  the  lamentations  of  those  whom  it  had 
already  overtaken.  Whole  dwellings  were  under 
water;  children  were  drowned  in  their  cradles. 
The  old  and  the  sick  had  been  swept  with  the 
overturned  houses  into  the  waves. 

Cecco  was  still  lying  and  praying  to  San  Marco. 
Oh,  how  could  the  crime  of  a  poor  fisherman  be 
taken  in  such  earnest  ?  Surely  it  was  not  his  fault 
that  the  saint  was  so  powerless !  He  would  let 
the  demons  take  him  and  his  boat ;  he  deserved 
no  better  fate.  But  not  the  whole  city! — oh, 
God  in  heaven,  not  the  whole  city! 

'  My  sons !  '  Cecco  said  to  San  Marco.  '  What 
do  I  care  about  my  sons  when  Venice  is  at  stake ! 
I  would  willingly  give  a  son  for  each  tile  in  danger 
of  being  blown  into  the  canal  if  I  could  keep  them 
in  their  place  at  that  price.  Oh,  San  Marco,  each 
little  stone  of  Venice  is  worth  as  much  as  a 
promising  son.' 

I  249] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

At  times  he  saw  terrible  things.  There  was  a 
large  galley  which  had  torn  itself  from  its  moor- 
ings and  now  came  drifting  towards  the  shore. 
It  went  straight  against  the  bulwark,  and  struck 
it  with  the  ram's  head  in  her  bows,  just  as  if  it  had 
been  an  enemy's  ship.  It  gave  blow  after  blow, 
and  the  attack  was  so  violent  that  the  vessel  im- 
mediately sprang  a  leak.  The  water  rushed  in, 
the  leak  grew  larger,  and  the  proud  ship  went  to 
pieces.  But  the  whole  time  one  could  see  the 
captain  and  two  or  three  of  the  crew,  who  would 
not  leave  the  vessel,  cling  to  the  deck  and  meet 
death  without  attempting  to  escape  it. 

The  second  night  came,  and  Cecco's  prayers 
continued  to  knock  at  the  gate  of  heaven. 

*  Let  me  alone  suffer !  '  he  cried.  '  San  Marco,  it 
is  more  than  a  man  can  bear,  thus  to  drag  others 
with  him  to  destruction.  Only  send  thy  lion  and 
kill  me ;  I  shall  not  attempt  to  escape.  Every- 
thing that  thou  wilt  have  me  give  up  for  the  city, 
that  will  I  willingly  sacrifice.' 

Just  as  he  had  uttered  these  words  he  looked 
towards  the  Piazetta,  and  he  thought  he  could 
no  longer  see  San  Marco's  lion  on  the  granite 
pillar.  Had  San  Marco  permitted  his  lion  to  be 
overthrown  ?  old  Cecco  cried.  He  was  nearly 
giving  up  Venice. 

Whilst  he  was  lying  there  he  saw  visions  and 
heard  voices  all  the  time.  The  demons  talked  and 
moved  to  and  fro.  He  heard  them  wheeze  like 
wild  beasts  every  time  they  made  their  assaults  on 
the  bulwarks.  He  did  not  mind  them  much  ;  it 
was  worse  about  Venice. 

Then  he  heard  in  the  air  above  him  the  beating 
[250] 


The  Fisherman' i   RING 

of  strong  wings;  this  was  surely  San  Marco's 
lion  flying  overhead.  It  moved  backwards  and 
forwards  in  the  air;  he  saw  and  yet  he  did  not 
see  it.  Then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  it  descended 
on  Riva  degli  Schiavoni,  where  he  was  lying,  and 
prowled  about  there.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
jumping  into  the  sea  from  fear,  but  he  remained 
sitting  where  he  was.  It  was  no  doubt  he  whom 
the  lion  sought.  If  that  could  only  save  Venice, 
then  he  was  quite  willing  to  let  San  Marco  avenge 
himself  upon  him. 

Then  the  lion  came  crawling  along  the  ground 
like  a  cat.  He  saw  it  making  ready  to  spring.  He 
noticed  that  it  beat  its  wings  and  screwed  its  large 
carbuncle  eyes  together  till  they  were  only  small 
fiery  slits. 

Then  old  Cecco  certainly  did  think  of  creeping 
down  to  his  boat  and  hiding  himself  under  the 
arch  of  the  bridge,  but  he  pulled  himself  together 
and  remained  where  he  was.  The  same  moment 
a  tall,  imposing  figure  stood  by  his  side. 

*  Good-evening,  Cecco,'  said  the  man ;  '  take 
your  boat  and  row  me  across  to  San  Giorgio  Mag- 
giore.' 

'  Yes,  signor,'  immediately  replied  the  old  fish- 
erman. 

It  was  as  if  he  had  awakened  from  a  dream. 
The  lion  had  disappeared,  and  the  man  must  be 
somebody  who  knew  him,  although  Cecco  could 
not  quite  remember  where  he  had  seen  him 
before.  He  was  glad  to  have  company.  The 
terrible  heaviness  and  anguish  that  had  been  over 
him  since  he  had  revolted  against  the  Saint  sud- 
denly vanished.  As  to  rowing  across  to  San 
[251] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Giorgio,  he  did  not  for  a  moment  think  that  it 
could  be  done. 

'  I  don't  believe  we  can  even  get  the  boat  out,' 
he  said  to  himself. 

But  there  was  something  about  the  man  at  his 
side  that  made  him  feel  he  must  do  all  he  possibly 
could  to  serve  him  ;  and  he  did  succeed  in  getting 
out  the  boat.  He  helped  the  stranger  into  the 
boat  and  took  the  oars. 

Cecco  could  not  help  laughing  to  himself. 

'  What  are  you  thinking  about?  Don't  go  out 
further  in  any  case,'  he  said.  '  Have  you  ever  seen 
the  like  of  these  waves  ?  Do  tell  him  that  it  is 
not  within  the  power  of  man.' 

But  he  felt  as  if  he  could  not  tell  the  stranger 
that  it  was  impossible.  He  was  sitting  there  as 
quietly  as  if  he  were  sailing  to  the  Lido  on  a 
summer's  eve.  And  Cecco  began  to  row  to  San 
Giorgio  Maggiore. 

It  was  a  terrible  row.  Time  after  time  the 
waves  washed  over  them. 

'  Oh,  stop  him ! '  Cecco  said  under  his  breath  ; 
'  do  stop  the  man  who  goes  to  sea  in  such 
weather !  Otherwise  he  is  a  sensible  old  fisher- 
man.    Do  stop  him  !  ' 

Now  the  boat  was  up  a  steep  mountain,  and 
then  it  went  down  into  a  valley.  The  foam 
splashed  down  on  Cecco  from  the  waves  that 
rushed  past  him  like  runaway  horses,  but  in  spite 
of  everything  he  approached  San  Giorgio. 

*  For  whom  are  you  doing  all  this,  risking  boat 
and  life?'  he  said.  'You  don't  even  know 
whether  he  can  pay  you.  He  does  not  look  like 
a  fine  gentleman.  He  is  no  better  dressed  than 
you  are.' 

[252] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

But  he  only  said  this  to  keep  up  his  courage, 
and  not  to  be  ashamed  of  his  tractabihty.  He 
was  simply  compelled  to  do  everything  the  man 
in  the  boat  wanted. 

'  But  in  any  case  not  right  to  San  Giorgio,  you 
foolhardy  old  man/  he  said.  '  The  wind  is  even 
worse  there  than  at  the  Rialto.' 

But  he  went  there,  nevertheless,  and  made  the 
boat  fast  whilst  the  stranger  went  on  shore.  He 
thought  the  wisest  thing  he  could  do  would  be 
to  slip  away  and  leave  his  boat,  but  he  did  not 
do  it.  He  would  rather  die  than  deceive  the 
stranger.  He  saw  the  latter  go  into  the  Church 
of  San  Giorgio.  Soon  afterwards  he  returned, 
accompanied  by  a  knight  in  full  armour. 

'  Row  us  now  to  San  Nicolo  in  Lido,'  said  the 
stranger. 

'  Ay,  ay,'  Cecco  thought ;  '  why  not  to  Lido?  ' 
They  had  already,  in  constant  anguish  and 
death,  rowed  to  San  Giorgio;  why  should  they 
not  set  out  for  Lido? 

And  Cecco  was  shocked  at  himself  that  he 
obeyed  the  stranger  even  unto  death,  for  he  now 
actually  steered  for  the  Lido. 

Being  now  three  in  the  boat,  it  was  still 
heavier  work.  He  had  no  idea  how  he  should 
be  able  to  do  it.  '  You  might  have  lived  many 
years  yet,'  he  said  sorrowfully  to  himself.  But 
the  strange  thing  was  that  he  was  not  sorrowful, 
all  the  same.  He  was  so  glad  that  he  could  have 
laughed  aloud.  And  then  he  was  proud  that  he 
could  make  headway.  '  He  knows  how  to  use 
his  oars,  does  old  Cecco,'  he  said. 

They  laid-to  at  Lido,  and  the  two  strangers 
went  on  shore.  They  walked  towards  San  Nicolo 
[253] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

in  Lido,  and  soon  returned  accompanied  by  an 
old  Bishop,  with  robe  and  stole,  crosier  in  hand, 
and  mitre  on  head. 

'  Now  row  out  to  the  open  sea/  said  the  first 
stranger. 

Old  Cecco  shuddered.  Should  he  row  out  to 
the  sea,  where  his  sons  perished?  Now  he  had 
not  a  single  cheerful  word  to  say  to  himself.  He 
did  not  think  so  much  of  the  storm,  but  of  the 
terror  it  was  to  have  to  go  out  to  the  graves 
of  his  sons.  If  he  rowed  out  there,  he  felt  that  he 
gave  the  stranger  more  than  his  life. 

The  three  men  sat  silently  in  the  boat  as  if 
they  were  on  watch.  Cecco  saw  them  bend  for- 
ward and  gaze  into  the  night.  They  had  reached 
the  gate  of  the  sea  at  Lido,  and  the  great  storm- 
ridden  sea  lay  before  them. 

Cecco  sobbed  within  himself.  He  thought  of 
two  dead  bodies  rolling  about  in  these  waves. 
He  gazed  into  the  water  for  two  familiar  faces. 
But  onward  the  boat  went.  Cecco  did  not 
give  in. 

Then  suddenly  the  three  men  rose  up  in  the 
boat ;  and  Cecco  fell  upon  his  knees,  although 
he  still  went  on  holding  the  oars.  A  big  ship 
steered  straight  against  them. 

Cecco  could  not  quite  tell  whether  it  was  a 
ship  or  only  drifting  mist.  The  sails  were  large, 
spread  out,  as  it  were,  towards  the  four  corners 
of  heaven ;  and  the  hull  was  gigantic,  but  it 
looked  as  if  it  were  built  of  the  lightest  sea-mist. 
He  thought  he  saw  men  on  board  and  heard 
shouting ;  but  the  crew  were  like  deep  darkness, 
and  the  shouting  was  like  the  roar  of  the  storm. 
[254] 


The  Fisherman's  RING 

However  it  was,  it  was  far  too  terrible  to  see 
the  ship  steer  straight  upon  them,  and  Cecco 
closed  his  eyes. 

But  the  three  men  in  the  boat  must  have 
averted  the  collision,  for  the  boat  was  not  upset. 
When  Cecco  looked  up  the  ship  had  fled  out 
to  sea,  and  loud  wailings  pierced  the  night. 

He  rose,  trembling  to  row  further.  He  felt  so 
tired  that  he  could  hardly  hold  the  oars.  But 
now  there  was  no  longer  any  danger.  The  storm 
had  gone  down,  and  the  waves  speedily  laid  them- 
selves to  rest. 

'  Now  row  us  back  to  Venice,'  said  the  stranger 
to  the  fisherman. 

Cecco  rowed  the  boat  to  Lido,  where  the 
Bishop  went  on  shore,  and  to  San  Giorgio,  where 
the  knight  left  them.  The  first  powerful  stranger 
went  with  him  all  the  way  to  the  Rialto. 

When  they  had  landed  at  Riva  degli  Schiavoni 
he  said  to  the  fisherman : 

'  When  it  is  daylight  thou  shalt  go  to  the  Doge 
and  tell  him  what  thou  hast  seen  this  night.  Tell 
him  that  San  Marco  and  San  Giorgio  and  San 
Nicolo  have  to-night  fought  the  evil  spirits  that 
would  destroy  Venice,  and  have  put  them  to 
flight.' 

'  Yes,  signor,'  the  fisherman  answered,  *  I  will 
tell  everything.  But  how  shall  I  speak  so  that 
the  Doge  will  believe  me?  ' 

Then  San  Marco  handed  him  a  ring  with  a 
precious  stone  possessed  of  a  wonderful  lustre. 

'  Show  this  to  the  Doge,'  he  said,  '  then  he  will 
understand  that  it  brings  a  message  from  me. 
He  knows  my  ring,  which  is  kept  in  San  Marco's 
treasury  in  the  cathedral.' 
[=255] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

The  fisherman  took  the  ring,  and  kissed  it 
reverently. 

'  Further,  thou  shalt  tell  the  Doge,'  said  the 
holy  man,  '  that  this  is  a  sign  that  I  shall  never 
forsake  Venice.  Even  when  the  last  Doge  has 
left  Palazzo  Ducali  I  will  live  and  preserve  Ven- 
ice. Even  if  V^enice  lose  her  islands  in  the  East 
and  the  supremacy  of  the  sea,  and  no  Doge  ever 
again  sets  out  on  the  Bucintoro,  even  then  I  will 
preserve  the  city  beautiful  and  resplendent.  It 
shall  always  be  rich  and  beloved,  always  be 
lauded  and  its  praises  sung,  always  a  place  of  joy 
for  men  to  live  in.  Say  this,  Cecco,  and  the  Doge 
will  not  forsake  thee  in  thine  old  age.' 

Then  he  disappeared ;  and  soon  the  sun  rose 
above  the  gate  of  the  sea  at  Torcello.  With  its 
first  beautiful  rays  it  shed  a  rosy  light  over  the 
white  city  and  over  the  sea  that  shone  in  many 
colours.  A  red  glow  lay  over  San  Giorgio  and 
San  Marco,  and  over  the  whole  shore,  studded 
with  palaces.  And  in  the  lovely  morning  radiant 
Venetian  ladies  came  out  on  to  the  loggias  and 
greeted  with  smiles  the  rising  day. 

Venice  was  once  again  the  beautiful  goddess, 
rising  from  the  sea  in  her  shell  of  rose-coloured 
pearl.  Beautiful  as  never  before,  she  combed  her 
golden  hair,  and  threw  the  purple  robe  around 
her,  to  begin  one  of  her  happiest  days.  For  a 
transport  of  bliss  filled  her  when  the  old  fisherman 
brought  San  Marco's  ring  to  the  Doge,  and  she 
heard  how  the  Saint,  now,  and  until  the  end  of 
time,  would  hold  his  protecting  hand  over  her. 


[256] 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

V 

Santa  Caterina  o/' Siena 


Santa  Caterina  of  Siena 

AT  Santa  Caterina's  house  in  Siena,  on  a 
day  towards  the  end  of  April,  in  the  week 
when  her  fete  is  being  celebrated,  people 
come  to  the  old  house  in  the  Street  of  the  Dyers, 
to  the  house  with  the  pretty  loggia  and  with  the 
many  small  chambers,  which  have  now  been  con- 
verted into  chapels  and  sanctuaries,  bringing 
bouquets  of  white  lilies ;  and  the  rooms  are  fra- 
grant with  incense  and  violets. 

Walking  through  these  rooms,  one  cannot 
help  thinking  that  it  is  just  as  if  she  were  dead 
yesterday,  as  if  all  those  who  go  in  and  out  of 
her  home  to-day  had  seen  and  known  her. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  no  one  could  really 
think  that  she  had  died  recently,  for  then  there 
would  be  more  grief  and  tears,  and  not  only  a 
quiet  sense  of  loss.  It  is  more  as  if  a  beloved 
daughter  had  been  recently  married,  and  had 
left  the  parental  home. 

Look  only  at  the  nearest  houses.  The  old 
walls  are  still  decorated  as  if  for  a  fete.  And  in 
her  own  home  garlands  of  flowers  are  still  hang- 
ing beneath  the  portico  and  loggia,  green  leaves 
are  strewn  on  the  staircase  and  the  doorstep,  and 
large  bouquets  of  flowers  fill  the  rooms  with  their 
scent. 

She  cannot  possibly  have  been  dead  five  hun- 
dred years.  It  looks  much  more  as  if  she  had 
celebrated  her  marriage,  and  had  gone  away  to 
[259] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

a  country  from  which  she  would  not  return  for 
many  years,  perhaps  never.  Are  not  the  houses 
decorated  with  nothing  but  red  table-cloths,  red 
trappings,  and  red  silken  banners,  and  are  there 
not  stuck  red-paper  roses  in  the  dark  garlands 
of  oak-leaves?  and  the  hangings  over  the  doors 
and  the  windows,  are  they  not  red  with  golden 
fringes?  Can  one  imagine  anything  more 
cheerful? 

And  notice  how  the  old  women  go  about  in 
the  house  and  examine  her  small  belongings.  It 
is  as  if  they  had  seen  her  wear  that  very  veil  and 
that  very  shirt  of  hair.  They  inspect  the  room  in 
which  she  lived,  and  point  to  the  bedstead  and 
the  packets  of  letters,  and  they  tell  how  at  first 
she  could  not  at  all  learn  to  write,  but  that  it 
came  to  her  all  at  once  without  her  having  learnt 
it.  And  only  look  at  her  writing — how  good  and 
distinct !  And  then  they  point  to  the  little  bottle 
she  used  to  carry  at  her  belt,  so  as  always  to  have 
a  little  medicine  at  hand  in  case  she  met  a  sick 
person,  and  they  utter  a  blessing  over  the  old 
lantern  she  held  in  her  hand  when  she  went  and 
visited  the  sick  in  the  long  weary  nights.  It  is 
just  as  if  they  would  say :  '  Dear  me — dear  me ! 
that  our  little  Caterina  Benincasa  should  be 
gone,  that  she  will  never  come  any  more  and  look 
after  us  old  people !  '  And  they  kiss  her  picture, 
and  take  a  flower  from  the  bouquets  to  keep  as 
a  remembrance. 

It  looks  as  if  those  who  were  left  in  the  home 
had  long  ago  prepared  themselves  for  the  separa- 
tion, and  tried  to  do  everything  possible  to  keep 
alive  the  memory  of  the  one  who  had  gone  away. 
[260] 


Santa    CATERINA   of  SJENA 

See,  there  they  have  painted  her  on  the  wall ; 
there  is  the  whole  of  her  little  history  represented 
in  every  detail.  There  she  is  when  she  cut  off  her 
beautiful  long  hair  so  that  no  man  could  ever  fall 
in  love  with  her,  for  she  would  never  marry.  Oh 
dear — oh  dear !  how  much  ridicule  and  scofifing 
she  had  suffered  on  that  account !  It  is  dreadful 
to  think  how  her  mother  tormented  her  and 
treated  her  like  a  servant,  and  made  her  sleep  on 
the  stone  floor  in  the  hall,  and  would  not  give 
her  any  food,  all  because  of  her  being  so  obstinate 
about  that  hair.  But  what  was  she  to  do  when 
they  continually  tried  to  get  her  married — she 
who  would  have  no  other  bridegroom  than 
Christ?  And  there  she  is  when  she  was  kneeling 
in  prayer,  and  her  father  coming  into  the  room 
without  her  knowing  it  saw  a  beautiful  white 
dove  hovering  over  her  head  whilst  she  was  pray- 
ing. And  there  she  is  on  that  Christmas  Eve 
when  she  had  gone  secretly  to  the  Madonna's 
altar  in  order  the  more  fully  to  rejoice  over  the 
birth  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  the  beautiful  Ma- 
donna leaned  out  of  her  picture  and  handed  the 
Child  to  her  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  hold 
it  for  a  moment  in  her  arms.  Oh,  what  a  joy  it 
had  been  for  her! 

Oh  dear,  no  ;  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  say  that 
our  little  Caterina  Benincasa  is  dead.  One  need 
only  say  that  she  has  gone  away  with  the  Bride- 
groom. 

In  her  home  one  will  never  forget  her  pious 

ways  and  doings.    All  the  poor  of  Siena  come  and 

knock  at  her  door  because  they  know  that  it  is  the 

marriage-day  of  the  little  virgin,  and  large  piles 

[261] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

of  bread  lie  in  readiness  for  them  as  if  she  were 
still  there.  They  have  their  pockets  and  baskets 
filled ;  had  she  herself  been  there,  she  could  not 
have  sent  them  away  more  heavily  laden.  She 
who  had  gone  away  had  left  so  great  a  want  that 
one  almost  wonders  the  Bridegroom  had  the 
heart  to  take  her  away  with  him. 

In  the  small  chapels  which  have  been  arranged 
in  every  corner  of  the  house  they  read  Mass  the 
whole  day,  and  they  invoke  the  bride  and  sing 
hymns  in  her  praise. 

'  Holy  Caterina,'  they  say,  '  on  this  the  day  of 
thy  death,  which  is  thine  heavenly  wedding-day, 
pray  for  us  ! ' 

'  Holy  Caterina,  thou  who  hadst  no  other  love 
but  Christ,  thou  who  in  life  wert  His  affianced 
bride,  and  who  in  death  wast  received  by  Him  in 
Paradise,  pray  for  us  ! ' 

'  Holy  Caterina,  thou  radiant  heavenly  bride, 
thou  most  blessed  of  virgins,  thou  whom  the 
mother  of  God  exalted  to  her  Son's  side,  thou 
who  on  this  day  wast  carried  by  angels  to  the 
kingdom  of  glory,  pray  for  us ! ' 

It  is  strange  how  one  comes  to  love  her,  how 
the  home  and  the  pictures  and  the  love  of  the  old 
and  the  poor  seem  to  make  her  living,  and  one 
begins  to  wonder  how  she  really  was,  whether  she 
was  only  a  saint,  only  a  heavenly  bride,  and  if  it 
is  true  that  she  was  unable  to  love  any  other  than 
Christ.  And  then  comes  to  one's  mind  an  old 
story  which  warmed  one's  heart  long  ago,  at  first 
quite  vague  and  without  shape,  but  whilst  one  is 
sitting  there  under  the  loggia  in  the  festively  deco- 
[262I 


Sa;ita  CATERINA  of  SIENA 

rated  home  and  watching  the  poor  wander  away 
with  their  full  baskets,  and  hearing  the  subdued 
murmur  from  the  chapels,  the  story  becomes 
more  and  more  distinct,  and  suddenly  it  is  vivid 
and  clear. 

Nicola  Tungo  was  a  young  nobleman  of  Pe- 
rugia, who  often  came  to  Siena  on  account  of  the 
races.  He  soon  found  out  how  badly  Siena  was 
governed,  and  often  said,  both  at  the  festive  gath- 
erings of  the  great  and  when  he  sat  drinking  in 
the  inns,  that  Siena  ought  to  rise  against  the  Sig- 
noria  and  procure  other  rulers. 

The  Signoria  had  not  been  in  power  for  more 
than  half  a  year;  they  did  not  feel  particularly 
firm  in  their  office,  and  did  not  like  the  Perugian 
stirring  up  the  people.  In  order  promptly  to  put 
a  stop  to  it,  they  had  him  imprisoned,  and  after  a 
short  trial  he  was  sentenced  to  death.  He  was 
placed  in  a  cell  in  the  Palazzo  Publico  whilst 
preparations  were  being  made  for  his  execution, 
which  was  to  take  place  the  next  morning  in  the 
Market  Place. 

At  first  he  was  strangely  affected.  To-morrow 
he  would  no  more  wear  his  green  velvet  doublet 
and  his  beautiful  sword ;  he  would  no  more  walk 
down  the  street  in  his  cap  with  the  ostrich-feather 
and  attract  the  glances  of  the  young  maidens,  and 
he  had  a  feeHng  of  painful  disappointment  that  he 
would  never  ride  the  new  horse  which  he  bought 
yesterday,  and  which  he  had  only  tried  once. 

Suddenly  he  called  the  gaoler,  and  asked  him 
to  go  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  Signoria  and  tell 
them  that  he  could  not  possibly  allow  himself  to 
[263] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

be  killed  ;  he  had  no  time.  He  had  far  too  much 
to  do.  Life  could  not  do  without  him.  His  father 
was  old,  and  he  was  the  only  son  ;  it  was  through 
his  descendants  that  the  family  should  be  con- 
tinued. It  was  he  who  should  give  away  his  sis- 
ters in  marriage,  he  who  should  build  the  new 
palace,  he  who  should  plant  the  new  vineyard. 

He  was  a  strong  young  man  ;  he  did  not  know 
what  sickness  was,  had  nothing  but  life  in  his 
veins.  His  hair  was  dark  and  his  cheeks  red.  He 
could  not  realize  that  he  should  die. 

When  he  thought  of  their  wanting  to  take  him 
away  from  pleasure  and  dancing,  and  the  carnival, 
and  from  the  races  next  Sunday,  and  from  the 
serenade  he  was  going  to  sing  to  the  beautiful 
Guilietta  Lombardi,  he  became  furiously  angry, 
and  his  wrath  was  roused  against  the  councillors 
as  though  they  were  thieves  and  robbers.  The 
scoundrels — the  scoundrels  that  would  take  his 
life  from  him ! 

But  as  time  went  on  his  longings  grew  deeper ; 
he  longed  for  air  and  water  and  heaven  and  earth. 
He  felt  he  would  not  mind  being  a  beggar  by  the 
wayside ;  he  would  gladly  suffer  sickness  and 
hunger  and  cold  if  only  he  were  allowed  to  live. 

He  wished  that  everything  might  die  with  him, 
that  nothing  would  be  left  when  he  was  gone ; 
that  would  have  been  a  great  consolation. 

But  that  people  should  go  to  the  Market  Place 
and  buy  and  sell,  and  that  the  women  would  fetch 
water  from  the  well,  and  that  the  children  would 
run  in  the  streets  the  next  day  and  all  days,  and 
that  he  would  not  be  there  to  see,  that  he  could 
not  bear.  He  envied  not  only  those  who  could 
[264] 


Santa  CATERINA  of  SIENA 

live  in  luxury  and  pleasure,  and  were  happy ;  he 
envied  quite  as  much  the  most  miserable  cripple. 
What  he  wanted  was  life,  solely  life. 

Then  the  priests  and  the  monks  came  to  see 
him.  It  made  him  almost  happy,  for  now  he  had 
someone  upon  whom  he  could  wreak  his  anger. 
He  first  allowed  them  to  talk  a  little.  It  amused 
him  to  hear  what  they  had  to  say  to  a  man  so 
deeply  wronged  as  he  was,  but  when  they  said 
that  he  ought  to  rejoice  that  he  was  permitted  to 
leave  this  life  and  gain  the  bliss  of  heaven  in 
the  fulness  of  his  youth,  then  he  started  up  and 
poured  forth  his  wrath  upon  them.  He  scofifed 
at  God  and  the  joys  of  heaven — he  did  not  want 
them.  He  would  have  life,  and  the  world,  and 
its  pomps  and  vanities.  He  regretted  every  day 
in  which  he  had  not  revelled  in  earthly  enjoy- 
ment; he  regretted  every  temptation  he  had  re- 
sisted. God  need  not  trouble  Himself  in  the  least 
about  him ;  he  felt  no  longing  for  His  heaven. 

The  priests  continued  to  speak ;  he  seized  one 
of  them  by  the  throat,  and  would  have  killed  him 
had  not  the  gaoler  thrown  himself  between  them. 
They  now  bound  and  gagged  him,  and  then 
preached  to  him ;  but  as  soon  as  he  was  allowed 
to  speak  he  raged  as  before.  They  talked  to  him 
for  many  hours,  but  they  saw  that  it  was  of  no 
avail. 

When  they  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  do, 
one  of  them  suggested  they  should  send  for  the 
young  Caterina  Benincasa,  who  had  shown  great 
power  in  subduing  defiant  spirits.  When  the 
Perugian  heard  the  name  he  suddenly  ceased  his 
abuse.  In  truth,  it  pleased  him.  It  was  some- 
[265] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

thing  quite  different,  having  to  do  with  a  young, 
beautiful  maiden. 

'  By  all  means  send  for  the  maiden,'  he  said. 

He  knew  that  she  was  the  young  daughter  of  a 
dyer,  and  that  she  went  about  alone  and  preached 
in  the  lanes  and  streets  of  the  town.  Some 
thought  she  was  mad,  others  said  that  she  had 
visions.  For  him  she  might,  anyhow,  be  better 
company  than  these  dirty  monks,  who  made  him 
completely  beside  himself. 

The  monks  then  went  their  way,  and  he  was 
alone.  Shortly  afterwards  the  door  was  again 
opened,  but  if  she  for  whom  they  had  sent  had 
really  entered  the  cell,  she  must  have  walked  with 
very  light  footsteps,  for  he  heard  nothing.  He 
lay  on  the  floor  just  as  he  had  thrown  himself 
down  in  his  great  anger ;  now  he  was  too  tired  to 
raise  himself,  or  make  a  movement,  or  even  to 
look  up.  His  arms  were  tied  together  with  ropes, 
which  cut  deep  into  his  flesh. 

He  now  felt  that  someone  began  to  loosen  his 
bands ;  a  warm  hand  touched  his  arm,  and  he 
looked  up.  Beside  him  lay  a  little  figure  in  the 
white  dress  of  the  Dominicans,  with  head  and 
neck  so  shrouded  in  a  white  veil  that  there  was 
not  more  of  her  face  to  be  seen  than  of  that  of  a 
knight  in  helmet  and  closed  visor. 

She  did  not  look  so  meek  by  any  means ;  she 
was  evidently  a  little  annoyed.  He  heard  her 
murmur  something  about  the  gaolers  who  had 
tightened  the  bands.  It  did  not  appear  as  if  she 
had  come  for  any  other  purpose  than  these  knots. 
She  was  only  taken  up  with  loosening  them  so 
that  they  did  not  hurt.  At  last  she  had  to  bite 
[266] 


Santa  CATERINA  of  SIENA 

in  them,  and  then  she  succeeded.  She  untied  the 
cord  with  a  hght  hand,  and  then  took  the  Httle 
bottle  which  was  suspended  from  her  beU  and 
poured  a  few  drops  upon  the  chafed  skin. 

He  lay  the  whole  time  and  looked  at  her,  but 
she  did  not  meet  his  glance ;  it  appeared  as  if  she 
could  think  of  nothing  else  but  what  she  had  be- 
tween her  hands.  It  was  as  if  nothing  were  fur- 
ther from  her  thoughts  than  that  she  was  there 
to  prepare  him  for  death.  He  felt  so  exhausted 
after  his  passion,  and  at  the  same  time  so  quieted 
by  her  presence,  that  he  only  said : 

'  I  think  I  will  sleep.' 

*  It  is  a  great  shame  that  they  have  not  given 
you  any  straw,'  she  said. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  about  undecided. 
Then  she  sat  down  upon  the  floor,  and  placed  his 
head  in  her  lap. 

'  Are  you  better  now  ?  '  she  said. 

Never  in  his  whole  life  had  he  felt  such  a  rest. 
Yet  sleep  he  could  not,  but  he  lay  and  looked  up 
in  her  face,  which  was  like  wax,  and  transparent. 
Such  eyes  he  had  never  seen  before.  They  were 
always  looking  far,  far  away,  gazing  into  another 
world,  whilst  she  sat  quite  motionless,  so  as  not 
to  disturb  his  sleep. 

'  You  are  not  sleeping,  Nicola  Tungo,'  she  said, 
and  looked  uneasy. 

'  I  cannot  sleep,'  he  replied,  *  because  I  am  won- 
dering who  you  can  be.' 

'  I  am  a  daughter  of  Luca  Benincasa  the  dyer, 
and  his  wife  Lapa,'  she  said. 

*  I  know  that,'  he  said,  '  and  I  also  know  that 
you  go  about  and  preach  in  the  streets.    And  I 

[267] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

know  that  you  have  attired  yourself  in  the  dress 
of  a  nun,  and  have  taken  the  vows  of  chastity. 
But  yet  I  don't  know  who  you  are.' 

She  turned  her  head  away  a  httle.  Then  she 
said,  whispering  Hke  one  who  confesses  her  first 
love : 

'  I  am  the  Bride  of  Christ.' 

He  did  not  laugh.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt 
quite  a  pang  in  his  heart,  as  from  jealousy. 

'  Oh,  Christ !  '  he  said,  as  if  she  had  thrown  her- 
self away. 

She  heard  that  his  tone  was  contemptuous,  but 
she  thought  he  meant  that  she  had  spoken  too 
presumptuously. 

'  I  do  not  understand  it  myself,'  she  said,  '  but 
so  it  is.' 

'  Is  it  an  imagination  or  a  dream?  '  he  said. 

She  turned  her  face  towards  him.  The  blood 
rose  red  behind  the  transparent  skin.  He  saw 
suddenly  that  she  was  fair  as  a  flower,  and  she  be- 
came dear  to  him.  He  moved  his  lips  as  if  to 
speak,  but  at  first  no  sound  came. 

'  How  can  you  expect  me  to  believe  that?  '  he 
said  defiantly. 

*  Is  it  not  enough  for  you  that  I  am  here  in  the 
prison  with  you?'  she  asked,  raising  her  voice. 
'  Is  it  any  pleasure  for  a  young  girl  like  me  to  go 
to  you  and  other  evil-doers  in  their  gloomy  dun- 
geons? Is  it  usual  for  a  woman  to  stand  and 
preach  at  the  street  corners  as  I  do,  and  to  be  held 
in  derision  ?  Do  I  not  require  sleep  as  other  peo- 
ple? And  yet  I  must  rise  every  night  and  go  to 
the  sick  in  the  hospitals.  Am  I  not  timid  as  other 
women?  And  yet  I  must  go  to  the  high-born 
[268] 


Santa  CATERINA  of  SIENA 

gentlemen  at  their  castles  and  reason  with  them, 
I  must  go  to  the  plague-smitten,  1  must  see  all 
vice  and  sin.  When  have  you  seen  another 
maiden  do  all  this  ?    But  I  am  obliged  to  do  it.' 

'  Poor  thing!  '  he  said,  and  stroked  her  hand 
gently — '  poor  thing !  ' 

'  For  I  am  not  braver,  or  wiser,  or  stronger 
than  others,'  she  said.  '  It  is  just  as  hard  for  me 
as  for  other  maidens.  You  can  see  that.  I  have 
come  here  to  speak  with  you  about  your  soul,  but 
I  do  not  at  all  know  what  I  shall  say  to  you.' 

It  was  strange  how  reluctantly  he  would  allow 
himself  to  be  convinced. 

'  You  may  be  mistaken  all  the  same,'  he  said. 
*  How  do  you  know  that  you  can  call  yourself  the 
Bride  of  Christ?  ' 

Her  voice  trembled,  and  it  was  as  if  she  should 
tear  out  her  heart  when  she  replied  : 

'  It  began  when  I  was  quite  young ;  I  was  not 
more  than  six  years  old.  It  was  one  evening 
when  I  was  walking  with  my  brother  in  the 
meadow  below  the  church  of  the  Dominicans,  and 
just  as  I  looked  up  at  the  church  I  saw  Christ  sit- 
ting on  a  throne,  surrounded  by  all  His  power  and 
glory.  He  was  attired  in  shining  white  garments 
like  the  Holy  Father  in  Rome.  His  head  was 
surrounded  by  all  the  splendour  of  Paradise,  and 
around  Him  stood  Pietro  Paolo  and  the  Evange- 
list Giovanni.  And  whilst  I  gazed  upon  Him  my 
heart  was  filled  with  such  a  love  and  holy  joy  that 
I  could  hardly  bear  it.  He  lifted  His  hand  and 
blessed  me,  and  I  sank  down  on  the  meadow,  and 
was  so  overcome  with  bliss,  that  my  brother  had 
to  take  me  in  his  arms  and  shake  me.  And  ever 
[269] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

since  that  time,  Nicola  Tungo,  I  have  loved  Jesus 
as  a  bridegroom.' 

He  again  objected. 

'  You  were  a  child  then.  You  had  fallen  asleep 
in  the  meadow  and  were  dreaming.' 

'Dreaming?'  she  repeated.  'Have  I  been 
dreaming  all  the  time  I  have  seen  Him  ?  Was  it 
a  dream  when  He  came  to  me  in  the  church  in  the 
likeness  of  a  beggar  and  asked  for  alms?  Then  I 
was  wide  awake,  at  any  rate.  And  do  you  think 
that  for  the  sake  of  a  dream  only  I  could  have 
borne  all  the  worries  I  have  had  to  bear  as  a 
young  girl  because  I  would  not  marry  ?  ' 

Nicola  went  on  contradicting  her  because  he 
could  not  bear  the  thought  that  her  heart  was 
filled  with  love  to  another. 

'  But  even  if  you  do  love  Christ,  maiden,  how 
do  you  know  that  He  loves  you  ?  ' 

She  smiled  her  very  happiest  smile  and  clapped 
her  hands  like  a  child. 

'  Now  you  shall  hear,'  she  said.  '  Now  I  will 
tell  you  the  most  important  of  all.  It  was  the  last 
night  before  Lent.  It  was  after  my  parents  and 
I  had  been  reconciled,  and  I  had  obtained  their 
permission  to  take  the  vow  of  chastity  and  wear 
the  dress  of  a  nun,  although  I  continued  to  live  in 
their  house ;  and  it  was  night,  as  I  told  you,  the 
last  night  of  the  carnival,  when  everybody  turns 
night  into  day.  There  were  fetes  in  every  street. 
On  the  walls  of  the  big  palaces  hung  balconies 
like  cages,  completely  covered  with  silken  hang- 
ings and  banners,  and  filled  with  noble  ladies.  I 
saw  all  their  beauty  by  the  light  of  the  red  torches 
in  their  bronze-holders,  the  one  row  over  the 
{270] 


Santa  CATERINA  of  SIENA 

other  quite  up  to  the  roof ;  and  in  the  gaily  deco- 
rated streets  there  was  a  train  of  carriages,  with 
golden  towers,  and  all  the  gods  and  goddesses, 
and  all  the  virtues  and  beauties  went  by  in  a  long 
procession.  And  everywhere  there  was  such  a 
play  of  masks  and  so  much  merriment  that  I  am 
sure  that  you,  sir,  have  never  taken  part  in  any- 
thing more  gay.  And  I  took  refuge  in  my  cham- 
ber, but  still  I  heard  laughter  from  the  street,  and 
never  before  have  I  heard  people  laugh  like  that ; 
it  was  so  clear  and  bell-like  that  everyone  was 
obliged  to  join  in  it.  And  they  sang  songs 
which,  I  suppose,  were  wicked,  but  they  sounded 
so  innocent,  and  caused  such  pleasure,  that  one's 
heart  trembled.  Then,  in  the  middle  of  my  pray- 
ers, I  suddenly  began  to  wonder  why  I  was  not 
out  amongst  them,  and  the  thought  fascinated 
and  tempted  me,  as  if  I  were  dragged  along  by  a 
runaway  horse ;  but  never  before  have  I  prayed 
so  intensely  to  Christ  to  show  me  what  was  His 
will  with  me.  Suddenly  all  the  noise  ceased,  a 
great  and  wonderful  silence  surrounded  me,  and 
I  saw  a  great  meadow,  where  the  Mother  of  God 
sat  amongst  the  flowers,  and  on  her  lap  lay  the 
Child  Jesus,  playing  with  Hlies.  But  I  hurried 
thither  in  great  joy,  and  knelt  before  the  Child, 
and  was  at  the  same  moment  filled  with  peace  and 
quietness,  and  then  the  Holy  Child  placed  a  ring 
on  my  finger,  and  said  to  me,  "  Know,  Caterina, 
that  to-day  I  celebrate  My  betrothal  with  thee, 
and  bind  thee  to  Me  by  the  strongest  faith."  * 

'  Oh,  Caterina  !  ' 

The  young  Perugian  had  turned  himself  on  the 
floor,  so  that  he  could  bury  his  face  in  her  lap.  It 
[271] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

was  as  if  he  could  not  bear  to  see  how  radiant  she 
was  whilst  she  was  speaking,  and  now  her  eyes 
became  bright  as  stars.  A  shadow  of  pain  passed 
over  him.  For  whilst  she  spoke  a  great  sorrow 
had  sprung  up  in  his  heart.  This  little  maiden, 
this  little  white  maiden,  he  could  never  win.  Her 
love  belonged  to  another ;  it  could  never  be  his. 
It  was  of  no  use  even  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her ; 
but  he  suffered ;  his  whole  being  groaned  in 
love's  agony.  How  could  he  bear  to  live  without 
her?  It  almost  became  a  consolation  to  remem- 
ber that  he  was  sentenced  to  death.  It  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  live  and  do  without  her. 

Then  the  little  woman  beside  him  sighed 
deeply,  and  came  back  from  the  joys  of  heaven  in 
order  to  think  of  poor  human  beings. 

*  I  forgot  to  speak  to  you  about  your  soul/  she 
said. 

Then,  he  thought :  '  This  burden,  at  any  rate, 
I  can  lighten  for  her.' 

'  Sister  Caterina,'  he  said,  '  I  do  not  know  how 
it  is,  but  heavenly  consolation  has  come  to  me. 
In  God's  name  I  will  prepare  for  death.  Now 
you  may  send  for  the  priests  and  monks ;  now  I 
will  confess  to  them.  But  one  thing  you  must 
promise  me  before  you  go :  you  must  come  to 
me  to-morrow,  when  I  shall  die,  and  hold  my 
head  between  your  hands  as  you  are  doing  now.' 

When  he  said  this  she  burst  into  tears,  from  a 
great  feeling  of  relief,  and  an  unspeakable  joy 
filled  her. 

*  How  happy  you  must  be,  Nicola  Tungo  !  '  she 
said.  '  You  will  be  in  Paradise  before  I  am  ;'  and 
she  stroked  his  face  gently. 

[  272  ] 


Sant^  CATERINA  of  SIENA 

He  said  again  : 

'  You  will  come  to  me  to-morrow  in  the  Market 
Place  ?  Perhaps  I  shall  otherwise  be  afraid  ;  per- 
haps I  cannot  otherwise  die  with  steadfastness. 
But  when  you  are  there  I  shall  feel  nothing  but 
joy,  and  all  fear  will  leave  me.' 

*  You  do  not  seem  to  me  any  more  as  a  poor 
mortal,'  she  said,  '  but  as  a  dweller  of  Paradise. 
You  appear  to  me  radiant  with  life,  surrounded 
by  incense.  Bliss  comes  to  me  from  you,  who 
shall  so  soon  meet  my  beloved  Bridegroom.  Be 
assured  I  shall  come.' 

She  then  led  him  to  confession  and  the  Com- 
munion. He  felt  the  whole  time  as  if  he  were 
asleep.  All  the  fear  of  death  and  the  longing  for 
life  had  passed  away  from  him.  He  longed  for 
the  morning,  when  he  should  see  her  again  ;  he 
thought  only  of  her,  and  of  the  love  with  which 
she  had  inspired  him.  Death  seemed  to  him  now 
but  a  slight  thing  compared  with  the  pain  of  the 
thought  that  she  would  never  love  him. 

The  young  maiden  did  not  sleep  much  during 
the  night,  and  early  in  the  morning  she  went  to 
the  place  of  execution,  to  be  there  when  he  came. 
She  invoked  Jesu,  Mother,  Marie,  and  the  Holy 
Caterina  of  Egypt,  virgin  and  martyr,  incessantly 
with  prayers  to  save  his  soul.  Incessantly  she  re- 
peated: '  I  will  that  he  shall  be  saved— I  will,  I 
will.'  But  she  was  afraid  that  her  prayers  were 
unavailing,  for  she  did  not  feel  any  longer  that 
ecstasy  which  had  filled  her  the  evening  before ; 
she  only  felt  an  infinite  pity  for  him  who  should 
die.  She  was  quite  overcome  with  grief  and  sor- 
row. 

(273] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Little  by  little  the  Market  Place  filled  with 
people.  The  soldiers  marched  up,  the  execu- 
tioner arrived,  and  much  noise  and  talking  went 
on  around  her;  but  she  saw  and  heard  nothing. 
She  felt  as  if  she  were  quite  alone. 

When  Nicola  Tungo  arrived,  it  was  just  the 
same  with  him.  He  had  no  thought  for  all  the 
others,  but  saw  only  her.  When  he  saw  at  the 
first  glance  that  she  was  entirely  overcome  with 
sorrow,  his  face  beamed,  and  he  felt  almost 
happy.     He  called  loudly  to  her: 

*  You  have  not  slept  much  this  night,  maiden?  ' 

'  No,'  she  said ;  '  I  have  watched  in  prayer  for 
you ;  but  now  I  am  in  despair,  for  my  prayers 
have  no  power.' 

He  knelt  down  before  the  block,  and  she  knelt 
so  that  she  could  hold  his  head  in  her  hands. 

'  Now  I  am  going  to  your  Bridegroom, 
Caterina.' 

She  sobbed  more  and  more. 

'  I  can  comfort  you  so  badly,'  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  smile. 

'  Your  tears  are  my  best  comfort.' 

The  executioner  stood  with  his  sword  drawn, 
but  she  bade  him  with  a  movcnient  stand  on  one 
side,  for  she  would  speak  a  few  words  with  the 
doomed  man. 

'  Before  you  came,'  she  said,  '  I  laid  my  head 
down  on  the  block  to  try  if  I  could  bear  it ;  and 
then  I  felt  that  I  was  still  afraid  of  death,  that  I  do 
not  love  Jesus  enough  to  be  willing  to  die  in  this 
hour ;  and  I  do  not  wish  you  to  die  either,  and  my 
prayers  have  no  power.' 

When  he  heard  this  he  thought :  *  Had  I  lived 
[274] 


Santa  CATERINA   of  STENA 

I  should  have  won  her  ' ;  and  he  was  glad  he 
should  die  before  he  had  succeeded  in  drawing  the 
radiant  heavenly  bride  down  to  earth.  But  when 
he  had  laid  his  head  in  her  hands,  a  great  conso- 
lation came  to  them  both. 

'  Nicola  Tungo,'  she  said,  '  I  see  heaven  open. 
The  angels  descend  to  receive  your  soul.' 

A  wondering  smile  passed  over  his  face.  Could 
what  he  had  done  for  her  sake  make  him  worthy 
of  heaven?  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  see  what  she 
saw ;  the  same  moment  the  sword  fell. 

But  Caterina  saw  the  angels  descend  lower  and 
lower,  saw  them  lift  his  soul,  saw  them  carry  it  to 
heaven. 

All  at  once  it  seemed  so  natural  that  Caterina 
Benincasa  has  lived  all  these  five  hundred  years. 
How  could  one  forget  that  gentle  little  maiden, 
that  great  loving  heart?  Again  and  again  they 
must  sing  in  her  praise,  as  they  are  now  singing 
in  the  small  chapels : 

'  Pia  Mater  et  humilis. 
Nature  memor  fragilis, 
In  hujus  vitae  fluctibus 
Nos  rege  tuis  precibus. 
Quern  vidi,  quern  amavi, 
In  quern  credidi,  quern  dilexi, 

Ora  pro  nobis. 
Ut  digni  efficiamur  promessionibus  Christi ! 
Santa  Caterina,  ora  pro  nobis !'  * 

*  Pious  and  gentle  Mother,  thou  who  knowest  our  weak 
nature,  guide  us  by  thy  prayers  through  this  life's  vicissitudes. 
Thou,  whom  I  saw  and  loved,  in  whom  I  believed  and  whom 
I  adored,  pray  for  us,  that  we  may  be  worthy  of  Christ's 
promises.      Holy  Caterina,  pray  for  us ! 

[275] 


From  a  Swedifh 

Homestead 

VI 

The  Empress's  Money-Chest 


The  Empress's  Money-Chest 

THE  Bishop  had  summoned  Father  Ver- 
neau  to  appear  before  him.  It  was  on 
account  of  a  somewhat  unpleasant  matter. 
Father  Verneau  had  been  sent  to  preach  in  the 
manufacturing  districts  around  Charleroi,  but  he 
had  arrived  there  in  the  midst  of  a  strike,  when 
the  workmen  were  rather  excited  and  unmanage- 
able. He  informed  the  Bishop  that  he  had 
immediately  on  his  arrival  in  the  Black  Country 
received  a  letter  from  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
men  to  the  effect  that  they  were  quite  willing  to 
hear  him  preach,  but  if  he  ventured  to  mention 
the  name  of  God  either  directly  or  indirectly, 
there  would  be  a  disturbance  in  the  church. 

'  And  when  I  went  up  into  the  pulpit  and  saw 
the  congregation  to  whom  I  should  preach,'  said 
the  Father,  '  I  felt  no  doubt  but  that  the  threat 
would  be  carried  out.' 

Father  Verneau  was  a  little  dried-up  monk. 
The  Bishop  looked  down  upon  him  as  being  of 
a  lower  order.  Such  an  unshaven,  not  too  clean 
monk,  with  the  most  insignificant  face,  was,  of 
course,  a  coward.  He  was,  probably,  also  afraid 
of  the  Bishop. 

*  I  have  been  informed,'  said  the  Bishop,  '  that 
you  carried  out  the  workmen's  wishes.  But  I 
need  not  point  out ' 

*  Monseigneur,'  interrupted  Father  Verneau  in 
all  humility,  '  I  thought  the  Church,  if  possible, 

I  279  1 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

would  avoid  everything  that  might  lead  to  a  dis- 
turbance.' 

'  But  a  Church  that  dare  not  mention  the  name 
of  God ' 

'  Has  Monseigneur  heard  my  sermon?' 

The  Bishop  walked  up  and  down  the  floor  to 
calm  himself. 

'  You  know  it  by  heart,  of  course  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Of  course,  Monseigneur.' 

'  Let  me  hear  it,  then,  as  it  was  delivered, 
Father  Verneau,  word  for  word,  exactly  as  you 
preached  it.' 

The  Bishop  sat  down  in  his  arm-chair.  Father 
Verneau  remained  standing. 

'  "  Citizens  and  citizenesses,"  he  began  in  the 
tone  of  a  lecturer. 

The  Bishop  started. 

*  Yes,  that  is  how  they  will  be  addressed,  Mon- 
seigneur.' 

'  Never  mind.  Father  Verneau,  only  proceed.' 

The  Bishop  shuddered  slightly ;  these  two 
words  had  suddenly  shown  him  the  whole  situa- 
tion. He  saw  before  him  this  gathering  of  the 
children  of  the  Black  Country,  to  whom  Father 
Verneau  had  preached.  He  saw  many  wild  faces, 
many  rags,  much  coarse  merriment.  He  saw 
these  people  for  whom  nothing  had  been  done. 

'  "  Citizens  and  citizenesses,"  began  Father  Ver- 
neau afresh,  "  there  is  in  this  country  an  Empress 
called  Maria  Theresa.  She  is  an  excellent  ruler, 
the  best  and  wisest  Belgium  has  ever  had.  Other 
rulers,  my  fellow-citizens,  other  rulers  have  suc- 
cessors when  they  die,  and  lose  all  power  over 
their  people.  Not  so  the  great  Empress  Maria 
[  280  j 


The  Empress's  MONEY-CHEST 

Theresa.  She  may  have  lost  the  throne  of  Aus- 
tria and  Hungary ;  Brabant  and  Limburg  may 
now  be  under  other  rulers,  but  not  her  good  prov- 
ince of  West  Flanders.  In  West  Flanders,  where 
I  have  lived  the  last  few  years,  no  other  ruler  is 
known  to  this  very  day  than  Maria  Theresa.  We 
know  King  Leopold  lives  in  Brussels,  but  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  us.  It  is  Maria  Theresa 
who  still  reigns  here  by  the  sea,  more  especially 
in  the  fishing  villages.  The  nearer  one  gets  to 
the  sea,  the  mightier  becomes  her  power.  Neither 
the  great  Revolution,  nor  the  Empire,  nor  the 
Dutch  have  had  the  power  to  overthrow  her. 
How  could  they?  They  have  done  nothing  for 
the  children  of  the  sea  that  can  compare  with 
what  she  has  done.  But  what  has  she  not  done 
for  the  people  on  the  dunes  !  What  an  invaluable 
treasure,  my  fellow-citizens,  has  she  not  bestowed 
upon  them ! 

'  "  About  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  in 
the  early  part  of  her  reign,  she  made  a  journey 
through  Belgium.  She  visited  Brussels  and 
Bruges,  she  went  to  Liege  and  Louvain,  and 
when  she  had  at  last  seen  enough  of  large  cities 
and  profusely  ornamented  town-halls,  she  went 
to  the  coast  to  see  the  sea  and  the  dunes. 

'  "  It  was  not  a  very  cheering  sight  for  her.  She 
saw  the  ocean,  so  vast  and  mighty  that  no  man 
can  fight  against  it.  She  saw  the  coast,  helpless 
and  unprotected.  There  lay  the  dunes,  but  the 
sea  had  washed  over  them  before,  and  might  do 
so  again.  There  were  also  dams,  but  they  had 
fallen  down  and  were  neglected. 

*  "  She  saw  harbours  filled  with  sand ;  she  saw 
[  28i  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

marshes  overgrown  with  rushes  and  weeds ;  she 
saw,  below  the  dunes,  fishing-huts  ravaged  by  the 
wind — huts  looking  as  if  they  had  been  thrown 
there,  a  prey  for  the  sea ;  she  saw  poor  old 
churches  that  had  been  moved  away  from  the 
sea,  lying  between  quicksands  and  lyme-grass,  in 
desolate  wastes. 

'  "  The  great  Empress  sat  a  whole  day  by  the 
sea.  She  was  told  all  about  the  floods  and  the 
towns  that  had  been  washed  away  ;  she  was  shown 
the  spot  where  a  whole  district  had  sunk  under 
the  sea ;  she  was  rowed  out  to  the  place  where 
an  old  church  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ;  and 
she  was  told  about  all  the  people  who  had  been 
drowned,  and  of  all  the  cattle  that  had  been  lost, 
the  last  time  the  sea  had  overflowed  the  dunes. 

'  "  The  whole  day  through  the  Empress  sat 
thinking:  '  How  shall  I  help  these  poor  people 
on  the  dunes  ?  I  cannot  forbid  the  sea  to  rise  and 
fall ;  I  cannot  forbid  it  to  undermine  the  shore ; 
nor  can  I  stay  the  storm,  or  prevent  it  from  upset- 
ting the  fishermen's  boats ;  and  still  less  can  I 
lead  the  fish  into  their  nets,  or  transform  the  lyme- 
grass  into  nutritious  wheat.  There  is  no  mon- 
arch in  the  world  so  mighty  that  he  can  help  these 
poor  people  in  their  need.' 

'  "  The  next  day  it  was  Sunday,  and  the  Em- 
press heard  Mass  at  Blankenberghe.  All  the  peo- 
ple from  Dunkirk  to  Sluis  had  come  to  see  her. 
But  before  Mass  the  Empress  went  about  and 
spoke  with  the  people. 

'  "  The  first  person  she  addressed  was  the  har- 
bour-master from  Nieuport.  '  What  news  is  there 
from  your  town?'  asked  the  Empress.  *  Noth- 
[282] 


The  Empress's   MONEY-CHEST 

ing  new,'  answered  the  harbour-master,  '  except 
that  CorneHs  Aertsen's  boat  was  upset  in  the 
storm  yesterday ;  and  we  found  him  this  morn- 
ing riding  on  the  keel.'  '  It  was  a  good  thing  his 
life  was  saved,'  said  the  Empress.  '  Well,  I  don't 
know,'  said  the  harbour-master,  '  for  he  was  out 
of  his  mind  when  he  came  on  shore.'  '  Was  it 
from  fear? '  asked  the  Empress.  '  Yes,'  said  the 
harbour-master;  'it  is  because  we  in  Nieuport 
have  nothing  to  depend  upon  in  the  hour  of  need. 
Cornelis  knew  that  his  wife  and  his  small  chil- 
dren would  starve  to  death  if  he  perished ;  and 
it  was  this  thought,  I  suppose,  that  drove  him  out 
of  his  mind.'  '  Then  that  is  what  you  need  here 
on  the  dunes — something  to  depend  upon?' 
'  Yes,  that  is  it,'  said  the  harbour-master.  '  The 
sea  is  uncertain,  the  harvest  is  uncertain,  the  fish- 
ing and  the  earnings  are  uncertain.  Something 
to  depend  upon,  that  is  what  ue  need.' 

*  "  The  Empress  then  went  on,  and  the  next 
she  spoke  to  was  the  priest  from  Heyst.  '  What 
news  from  Heyst  ?  '  said  she  to  him.  *  Nothing 
new,'  he  answered,  *  except  that  Jacob  van  Rave- 
steyn  has  given  up  making  ditches  in  the  marshes, 
and  dredging  the  harbour,  and  attending  to  the 
lighthouses,  and  all  other  useful  work  he  had  to 
do.'  '  How  is  that  ?  '  said  the  Empress.  '  He  has 
inherited  a  sum  of  money,'  said  the  priest ;  '  but 
it  was  less  than  he  had  expected.'  '  But  now  he 
has  something  certain,'  said  the  Empress.  *  Yes,' 
said  the  priest ;  *  but  now  he  has  got  the  money 
he  dare  not  venture  to  do  anything  great  for  fear 
it  will  not  be  sufficient.'  *  It  is  something  in- 
finitely great,  then,  that  is  needed  to  help  you  at 
I  283  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Heyst  ?  '  said  the  Empress.  '  It  is,'  said  the  priest ; 
'  there  is  infinitely  much  to  do.  And  nothing  can 
be  done  until  we  know  that  we  have  something 
infinitely  great  to  fall  back  upon.' 

'  "  The  Empress  then  went  on  until  she  came 
to  the  master-pilot  from  Middelkerke,  whom  she 
began  to  question  about  the  news  from  his  town. 
'  I  do  not  know  of  anything  new,'  said  the  master- 
pilot,  '  but  that  Ian  van  der  Meer  has  quarrelled 
with  Luca  Neerwinden.'  '  Indeed  !  '  said  the  Em- 
press. '  Yes,  they  have  found  the  cod-bank  they 
have  both  been  looking  for  all  their  lives.  They 
had  heard  about  it  from  old  people,  and  they  had 
hunted  for  it  all  over  the  sea,  and  they  have  been 
the  best  of  friends  the  whole  time,  but  now  they 
have  found  it  they  have  fallen  out.'  '  Then  it 
would  have  been  better  if  they  had  never  found 
it?  '  said  the  Empress.  *  Yes,'  answered  the  mas- 
ter-pilot, '  it  would  indeed  have  been  better.' 
'  So,  then,  that  which  is  to  help  you  in  Middel- 
kerke,' said  the  Empress,  *  must  be  hidden  so  well 
that  no  one  can  find  it?'  'Just  so,'  said  the 
master-pilot ;  '  well  hidden  it  must  be,  for  if  any- 
one should  find  it,  there  would  be  nothing  but 
quarrelling  and  strife  over  it,  or  else  it  would  be 
all  spent,  and  then  it  would  be  of  no  further  use.' 

*  "  The  Empress  sighed,  and  felt  she  could  do 
nothing. 

*  "  She  then  went  to  Mass,  and  the  whole  time 
she  knelt  and  prayed  that  power  might  be  given 
her  to  help  the  people.  And — you  must  excuse 
me,  citizens — when  the  Mass  was  finished,  it  had 
become  clear  to  her  that  it  was  better  to  do  a  little 
than  to  do  nothing.     When  all  the  people  had 

[  284] 


The  Empress's  MONEY-CHEST 

come  out  of  the  church,  she  stood  on  the  steps  in 
order  to  address  them. 

*  "  No  man  or  woman  of  West  Flanders  will 
ever  forget  how  she  looked.  She  was  beautiful, 
like  an  Empress,  and  she  was  attired  like  an  Em- 
press. She  wore  her  crown  and  her  ermine  man- 
tle, and  held  the  sceptre  in  her  hand.  Her  hair 
was  dressed  high  and  powdered,  and  a  string  of 
large  pearls  was  entwined  amongst  the  curls.  She 
wore  a  robe  of  red  silk,  which  was  entirely  cov- 
ered with  Flemish  lace,  and  red,  high-heeled 
shoes,  with  large  diamond  buckles.  That  is  how 
she  appears,  she  who  to  this  day  still  reigns  over 
our  West  Flanders. 

*  "  She  spoke  to  the  people  of  the  coast,  and 
told  them  her  will.  She  told  them  of  how  she 
had  thought  of  every  way  in  which  to  help  them. 
She  said  that  they  knew  she  could  not  compel 
the  sea  to  quietness  or  chain  the  storm,  that  she 
could  not  lead  the  fish-shoals  to  the  coast,  or 
transform  the  lyme-grass  into  wheat ;  but  what 
a  poor  mortal  could  do  for  them,  that  should  be 
done. 

'  "  They  all  knelt  before  her  whilst  she  spoke. 
Never  before  had  they  felt  such  a  gentle  and 
motherly  heart  beat  for  them.  The  Empress 
spoke  to  them  in  such  a  manner  about  their  hard 
and  toilsome  life  that  tears  came  into  their  eyes 
over  her  pity. 

* "  But  now  the  Empress  said  she  had  decided 
to  leave  with  them  her  Imperial  money-chest, 
with  all  the  treasures  which  it  contained.  That 
should  be  her  gift  to  all  those  who  lived  on  the 
dunes.  That  was  the  only  assistance  she  could 
I  285  ] 


From  a  SIVEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

render  them,  and  she  asked  them  to  forgive  her 
that  it  was  so  poor;  and  the  Empress  herself 
had  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  said  this. 

'  "  She  now  asked  them  if  they  would  promise 
and  swear  not  to  use  any  of  the  treasure  until 
the  need  amongst  them  was  so  great  that  it  could 
not  become  any  greater.  Next,  if  they  would 
swear  to  leave  it  as  an  inheritance  for  their  de- 
scendants, if  they  did  not  require  it  themselves. 
And,  lastly,  she  asked  every  man  singly  to  swear 
that  he  would  not  try  to  take  possession  of  the 
treasure  for  his  own  use  without  having  first 
asked  the  consent  of  all  his  fellow-fishermen. 

'  "  If  they  were  willing  to  swear?  That  they  all 
were.  And  they  blessed  the  Empress  and  cried 
from  gratitude.  And  she  cried  and  told  them  that 
she  knew  that  what  they  needed  was  a  support 
that  would  never  fail  them,  a  treasure  that  could 
never  be  exhausted,  and  a  happiness  that  was  un- 
attainable, but  that  she  could  not  give  them.  She 
had  never  been  so  powerless  as  here  on  the  dunes. 

'  "  My  fellow-citizens,  without  her  knowing  it, 
solely  by  force  of  the  royal  wisdom  with  which 
this  great  Queen  was  endowed,  the  power  was 
given  her  to  attain  far  more  than  she  had  in- 
tended, and  it  is  therefore  one  can  say  that  to  this 
day  she  reigns  over  West  Flanders. 

'  "  What  a  happiness,  is  it  not,  to  hear  of  all 
the  blessings  which  have  been  spread  over  West 
Flanders  by  the  Empress's  gift !  The  people 
there  have  now  something  to  depend  upon  which 
they  needed  so  badly,  and  which  we  all  need. 
However  bad  things  may  be,  there  is  never  any 
despair. 

(  286  ] 


The  Empress's  MONEY-CHEST 

*  "  They  have  told  me  at  the  dunes  what  the 
Empress's  money-chest  is  like.  They  say  it  is 
Hke  the  holy  shrine  of  Saint  Ursula  at  Bruges, 
only  more  beautiful.  It  is  a  copy  of  the  cathedral 
at  Vienna,  and  it  is  of  pure  gold  ;  but  on  the  sides 
the  whole  history  of  the  Empress  is  depicted  in 
the  whitest  alabaster.  On  the  small  side-towers 
are  the  four  diamonds  which  the  Empress  took 
from  the  crown  of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey,  and  hi 
the  gable  are  her  initials  inlaid  with  rubies.  But 
when  I  ask  them  whether  they  have  seen  the 
money-chest,  they  reply  that  shipwrecked  sailors 
when  in  peril  always  see  it  swimming  before  them 
on  the  waves  as  a  sign  that  they  shall  not  be  in 
despair  for  their  wives  and  children,  should  they 
be  compelled  to  leave  them.  But  they  are  the 
only  ones  who  have  seen  the  treasure,  otherwise 
no  one  has  been  near  enough  to  count  it.  And 
you  know,  citizens,  that  the  Empress  never  told 
anyone  how  great  it  was.  But  if  any  of  you  doubt 
how  much  use  it  has  been  and  is,  then  I  will  ask 
you  to  go  to  the  dunes  and  see  for  yourself. 
There  has  been  digging  and  building  ever  since 
that  time,  and  the  sea  now  lies  cowed  by  bulwarks 
and  dams,  and  no  longer  does  harm.  And  there 
are  green  meadows  inside  the  dunes,  and  there 
are  flourishing  towns  and  watering-places  near 
the  shore.  But  for  every  lighthouse  that  has  been 
built,  for  every  harbour  that  has  been  deepened, 
for  every  ship  of  which  the  keel  has  been  laid,  for 
every  dam  that  has  been  raised,  they  have  always 
thought :  '  If  our  own  money  should  not  be  suf- 
ficient, we  shall  receive  help  from  our  Gracious 
Empress  Maria  Theresa.'  But  this  has  been  but 
[  287  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

a  spur  to  them  :  their  own  money  has  always  suf- 
ficed. 

'  "  You  know,  also,  that  the  Empress  did  not 
say  where  the  treasure  was.  Was  not  this  well 
considered,  citizens?  There  is  one  who  has  it  in 
his  keeping,  but  only,  when  all  are  agreed  upon 
dividing  it,  will  he  who  keeps  the  treasure  come 
forward  and  reveal  where  it  is.  Therefore  one 
is  certain  that  neither  now  nor  in  the  future  will 
it  be  unfairly  divided.  It  is  the  same  for  all. 
Everyone  knows  that  the  Empress  thinks  as  much 
of  him  as  of  his  neighbour.  There  can  be  no  strife 
or  envy  amongst  the  people  of  the  dunes  as  there 
is  amongst  other  men,  for  they  all  share  alike  in 
the  treasure."  ' 

The  Bishop  interrupted  Father  Verneau. 

'  That  is  enough,'  he  said.  '  How  did  you  con- 
tinue ? ' 

'  I  said,'  continued  the  monk,  '  that  it  was  very 
bad  the  good  Empress  had  not  also  come  to 
Charleroi.  I  pitied  them  because  they  did  not  own 
her  money-chest.  Considering  the  great  things 
they  had  to  accomplish,  considering  the  sea  which 
they  had  to  tame,  the  quicksands  which  they  had 
to  bind,  considering  all  this,  I  said  to  them  surely 
there  was  nothing  they  needed  so  much.' 

'  And  then?  '  asked  the  Bishop. 

'  One  or  two  cabbages,  your  Eminence,  a  little 
hissing ;  but  then  I  was  already  out  of  the  pulpit. 
That  was  all.' 

'  They  had  understood  that  you  had  spoken  to 
them  about  the  providence  of  God?  ' 

The  monk  bowed. 

'  They  had  understood  that  you  would  show 
[  288  ] 


The  Empress's  MONEY-CHEST 

them  that  the  power  which  they  deride  because 
they  do  not  see  it  must  be  kept  hidden  ?  that  it  will 
be  abused  immediately  it  assumes  a  visible  form? 
I  congratulate  you,  Father  Verneau.' 

The  monk  retired  towards  the  door,  bowing. 
The  Bishop  followed  him,  beaming  benevolently. 

'  But  the  money-chest — do  they  still  believe  in 
it  at  the  dunes?  ' 

'  As  much  as  ever,  Monseigneur.' 

*  And  the  treasure — has  there  ever  been  a  treas- 
ure?' 

'  Monseigneur,  I  have  sworn.* 

*  But  for  me,'  said  the  Bishop. 

*  It  is  the  priest  at  Blankenberghe,  who  hds  it  in 
his  keeping.  He  allowed  me  to  see  it.  It  is  an 
old  wooden  chest  with  iron  mountings.' 

'  And  ? ' 

'And  at  the  bottom  He  twenty  bright  Maria 
Theresa  gold  pieces.' 

The  Bishop  smiled,  but  became  grave  at  once. 

'  Is  it  right  to  compare  such  a  wooden  chest 
with  God's  providence  ?  ' 

*  All  comparisons  are  incomplete,  Monseig- 
neur;  all  human  thoughts  are  vain.' 

Father  Verneau  bowed  once  again,  and  quietly 
withurew  from  the  audience-room. 


[289  ] 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

VII 

The  Peace  of  God 


The  Peace  of  God 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  an  old  farm- 
house. It  was  Christmas-eve,  the  sky  was 
heavy  with  snow,  and  the  north  wind  was 
biting.  It  was  just  that  time  in  the  afternoon 
when  everybody  was  busy  finishing  their  work 
before  they  went  to  the  bath-house  to  have  their 
Christmas  bath.  There  they  had  made  such  a 
fire  that  the  flames  went  right  up  the  chimney,  and 
sparks  and  soot  were  whirled  about  by  the  wind, 
and  fell  down  on  the  snow-decked  roofs  of  the 
outhouses.  And  as  the  flames  appeared  above 
the  chimney  of  the  bath-house,  and  rose  Hke  a 
fiery  pillar  above  the  farm,  everyone  suddenly  felt 
that  Christmas  was  at  hand.  The  girl  that  was 
scrubbing  the  entrance  fioor  began  to  hum,  al- 
though the  water  was  freezing  in  the  bucket 
beside  her.  The  men  in  the  wood-shed  who  were 
cutting  Christmas  logs  began  to  cut  two  at  a  time, 
and  swung  their  axes  as  merrily  as  if  log-cutting 
were  a  mere  pastime. 

An  old  woman  came  out  of  the  pantry  with  a 
large  pile  of  cakes  in  her  arms.  She  went  slowly 
across  the  yard  into  the  large  red-painted  dwell- 
ing-house, and  carried  them  carefully  into  the 
best  room,  and  put  them  down  on  the  long  seat. 
Then  she  spread  the  tablecloth  on  the  table,  and 
arranged  the  cakes  in  heaps,  a  large  and  a  small 
cake  in  each  heap.  She  was  a  singularly  ugly  old 
woman,  with  reddish  hair,  heavy  drooping  eye- 
[  293  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

lids,  and  with  a  peculiar  strained  look  about  the 
mouth  and  chin,  as  if  the  muscles  were  too  short. 
But  being  Christmas-eve,  there  was  such  a  joy 
and  peace  over  her  that  one  did  not  notice  how 
ugly  she  was. 

But  there  was  one  person  on  the  farm  who  was 
not  happy,  and  that  was  the  girl  who  was  tying  up 
the  whisks  made  of  birch  twigs  that  were  to  be 
used  for  the  baths.  She  sat  near  the  fireplace,  and 
had  a  whole  armful  of  fine  birch  twigs  lying  beside 
her  on  the  floor,  but  the  withes  with  which  she 
was  to  bind  the  twigs  would  not  keep  knotted. 
The  best  room  had  a  narrow,  low  window,  with 
small  panes,  and  through  them  the  light  from  the 
bath-house  shone  into  the  room,  playing  on  the 
floor  and  gilding  the  birch  twigs.  But  the  higher 
the  fire  burned  the  more  unhappy  was  the  girl. 
She  knew  that  the  whisks  would  fall  to  pieces  as 
soon  as  one  touched  them,  and  that  she  would 
never  hear  the  last  of  it  until  the  next  Christmas 
fire  was  lighted. 

Just  as  she  sat  there  bemoaning  herself,  the  per- 
son of  whom  she  was  most  afraid  came  into  the 
room.  It  was  her  master,  Ingmar  Ingmarson. 
He  was  sure  to  have  been  to  the  bath-house  to  see 
if  the  stove  was  hot  enough,  and  now  he  wanted 
to  see  how  the  whisks  were  getting  on.  He  was 
old,  was  Ingmar  Ingmarson,  and  he  was  fond  of 
everything  old,  and  just  because  people  were  be- 
ginning to  leave  off  bathing  in  the  bath-houses 
and  being  whipped  with  birch  twigs,  he  made  a 
great  point  of  having  it  done  on  his  farm,  and 
having  it  done  properly. 

Ingmar  Ingmarson  wore  an  old  coat  of  sheep's- 
[  294  ] 


The  PEACE  of  GOD 

skin,  skin  trousers,  and  shoes  smeared  over  with 
pitch.  He  was  dirty  and  unshaven,  slow  in  all  his 
movements,  and  came  in  so  softly  that  one  might 
very  well  have  mistaken  him  for  a  beggar.  His 
features  resembled  his  wife's  features  and  his  ugli- 
ness resembled  his  wife's  ugliness,  for  they  were 
relations,  and  from  the  time  the  girl  first  began  to 
notice  anything  she  had  learned  to  feel  a  whole- 
some reverence  for  anybody  who  looked  like  that ; 
for  it  was  a  great  thing  to  belong  to  the  old  family 
of  the  Ingmars,  which  had  always  been  the  first 
in  the  village.  But  the  highest  to  which  a  man 
could  attain  was  to  be  Ingmar  Ingmarson  himself, 
and  be  the  richest,  the  wisest,  and  the  mightiest  in 
the  whole  parish. 

Ingmar  Ingmarson  went  up  to  the  girl,  took 
one  of  the  whisks,  and  swung  it  in  the  air.  It  im- 
mediately fell  to  pieces ;  one  of  the  twigs  landed 
on  the  Christmas  table,  another  on  the  big  four- 
poster. 

'  I  say,  my  girl,'  said  old  Ingmar,  laughing, '  do 
you  think  one  uses  that  kind  of  whisk  when  one 
takes  a  bath  at  the  Ingmar's,  or  are  you  very 
tender,  my  girl? ' 

When  the  girl  saw  that  her  master  did  not  take 
it  more  seriously  than  that,  she  took  heart,  and 
answered  that  she  could  certainly  make  whisks 
that  would  not  go  to  pieces  if  she  could  get  proper 
withes  to  bind  them  with. 

'  Then  I  suppose  I  must  try  to  get  some  for 
you,  my  girl,'  said  old  Ingmar,  for  he  was  in  a  real 
Christmas  humour. 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  stepped  over  the  girl 
who  was  scouring  the  floor,  and  remained  stand- 
l  295  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

ing  on  the  doorstep,  to  see  if  there  were  anyone 
about  whom  he  could  send  to  the  birch-wood  for 
some  withes.  The  farm  hands  were  still  busy  cut- 
ting Yule  logs  ;  his  son  came  out  of  the  barn  with 
the  Christmas  sheaf;  his  two  sons-in-law  were 
putting  the  carts  into  the  shed  so  that  the  yard 
could  be  tidy  for  the  Christmas  festival.  None  of 
them  had  time  to  leave  their  work. 

The  old  man  then  quietly  made  up  his  mind  to 
go  himself.  He  went  across  the  yard  as  if  he  were 
going  into  the  cowshed,  looked  cautiously  round 
to  make  sure  no  one  noticed  him,  and  stole  along 
outside  the  barn  where  there  was  a  fairly  good 
road  to  the  wood.  The  old  man  thought  it  was 
better  not  to  let  anyone  know  where  he  was  go- 
ing, for  either  his  son  or  his  sons-in-law  might 
then  have  begged  him  to  remain  at  home,  and 
old  people  like  to  have  their  own  way. 

He  went  down  the  road,  across  the  fields, 
through  the  small  pine-forest  into  the  birch-wood. 
Here  he  left  the  road,  and  waded  in  the  snow  to 
find  some  young  birches. 

About  the  same  time  the  wind  at  last  accom- 
plished what  it  had  been  busy  with  the  whole  day : 
it  tore  the  snow  from  the  clouds,  and  now  came 
rushing  through  the  wood  with  a  long  train  of 
snow  after  it. 

Ingmar  Ingmarson  had  just  stooped  down  and 
cut  off  a  birch  twig,  when  the  wind  came  tearing 
along  laden  with  snow.  Just  as  the  old  man  was 
getting  up  the  wind  blew  a  whole  heap  of  snow  in 
his  face.  His  eyes  were  full  of  snow,  and  the  wind 
whirled  so  violently  around  him  that  he  was 
obliged  to  turn  round  once  or  twice. 
[  296  ] 


The  PEACE  of  GOD 

The  whole  misfortune,  no  doubt,  arose  from 
Ingmar  Ingmarson  being  so  old.  In  his  young 
days  a  snowstorm  would  certainly  not  have  made 
him  dizzy.  But  now  everything  danced  round 
him  as  if  he  had  joined  in  a  Christmas  polka,  and 
when  he  wanted  to  go  home  he  went  in  the  wrong 
direction.  He  went  straight  into  the  large  pine- 
forest  behind  the  birch-wood  instead  of  going 
towards  the  fields. 

It  soon  grew  dark,  and  the  storm  continued  to 
howl  and  whirl  around  him  amongst  the  young 
trees  on  the  outskirts  of  the  forest.  The  old  man 
saw  quite  well  that  he  was  walking  amongst  fir- 
trees,  but  he  did  not  understand  that  this  was 
wrong,  for  there  were  also  fir-trees  on  the  other 
side  of  the  birch-wood  nearest  the  farm.  But  by- 
and-by  he  got  so  far  into  the  forest  that  every- 
thing was  quiet  and  still — one  could  not  feel  the 
storm,  and  the  trees  were  high  with  thick  stems — 
then  he  found  out  that  he  had  mistaken  the  road, 
and  would  turn  back. 

He  became  excited  and  upset  at  the  thought 
that  he  could  lose  his  way,  and  as  he  stood  there  in 
the  midst  of  the  pathless  wood  he  was  not  suffi- 
ciently clear-headed  to  know  in  which  direction  to 
turn.  He  first  went  to  the  one  side  and  then  to  the 
other.  At  last  it  occurred  to  him  to  retrace  his 
way  in  his  own  footprints,  but  darkness  came  on, 
and  he  could  no  longer  follow  them.  The  trees 
around  him  grew  higher  and  higher.  Whichever 
way  he  went,  it  was  evident  to  him  that  he  got 
further  and  further  into  the  forest. 

It  was  like  witchcraft  and  sorcery,  he  thought, 
that  he  should  be  running  about  the  woods  like 
I  297  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

this  all  the  evening  and  be  too  late  for  the  bathing. 
He  turned  his  cap  and  rebound  his  garter,  but  his 
head  was  no  clearer.  It  had  become  quite  dark, 
and  he  began  to  think  that  he  would  have  to  re- 
main the  whole  night  in  the  woods. 

He  leant  against  a  tree,  stood  still  for  a  little, 
and  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts.  He  knew  this 
forest  so  well,  and  had  walked  in  it  so  much,  that 
he  ought  to  know  every  single  tree.  As  a  boy  he 
had  gone  there  and  tended  sheep.  He  had  gone 
there  and  laid  snares  for  the  birds.  In  his  young 
days  he  had  helped  to  fell  trees  there.  He  had 
seen  old  trees  cut  down  and  new  ones  grow  up. 
At  last  he  thought  he  had  an  idea  where  he  was, 
and  fancied  if  he  went  that  and  that  way  he  must 
come  upon  the  right  road ;  but  all  the  same,  he 
only  went  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  forest. 

Once  he  felt  smooth,  firm  ground  under  his 
feet,  and  knew  from  that,  that  he  had  at  last  come 
to  some  road.  He  tried  now  to  follow  this,  for  a 
road,  he  thought,  was  bound  to  lead  to  some  place 
or  other ;  but  then  the  road  ended  at  an  open 
space  in  the  forest,  and  there  the  snowstorm  had 
it  all  its  own  way ;  there  was  neither  road  nor 
path,  only  drifts  and  loose  snow.  Then  the  old 
man's  courage  failed  him ;  he  felt  like  some  poor 
creature  destined  to  die  a  lonely  death  in  the 
wilderness. 

He  began  to  grow  tired  of  dragging  himself 
through  the  snow,  and  time  after  time  he  sat  down 
on  a  stone  to  rest ;  but  as  soon  as  he  sat  down 
he  felt  he  was  on  the  point  of  falling  asleep,  and 
he  knew  he  would  be  frozen  to  death  if  he  did  fall 
asleep,  therefore  he  tried  to  walk  and  walk ;  that 
[  298  ] 


The  PEACE  of  GOD 

was  the  only  thing  that  could  save  him.  But  all 
at  once  he  could  not  resist  the  inclination  to  sit 
down.  He  thought  if  hd  could  only  rest,  it  did 
not  matter  if  it  did  cost  him  his  life. 

It  was  so  delightful  to  sit  down  that  the  thought 
of  death  did  not  in  the  least  frighten  him.  He  felt 
a  kind  of  happiness  at  the  thought  that  when  he 
was  dead  the  account  of  his  whole  life  would  be 
read  aloud  in  the  church.  He  thought  of  how 
beautifully  the  old  Dean  had  spoken  about  his 
father,  and  how  something  equally  beautiful 
would  be  sure  to  be  said  about  him.  The  Dean 
would  say  that  he  had  owned  the  oldest  farm  in 
the  district,  and  he  would  speak  about  the  honour 
it  was  to  belong  to  such  a  distinguished  family, 
and  then  something  would  be  said  about  responsi- 
bility. Of  course  there  was  responsibility  in  the 
matter;  that  he  had  always  known.  One  must 
endure  to  the  very  last  when  one  was  an  Ingmar. 

The  thought  rushed  through  him  that  it  was 
not  befitting  for  him  to  be  found  frozen  to  death 
in  the  wild  forest.  He  would  not  have  that  handed 
down  to  posterity ;  and  he  stood  up  again  and 
began  to  walk.  He  had  been  sitting  so  long  that 
masses  of  snow  fell  from  his  fur  coat  when  he 
moved.  But  soon  he  sat  down  again  and  began 
to  dream. 

The  thought  of  death  now  came  quite  gently  to 
him.  He  thought  about  the  whole  of  the  funeral 
and  all  the  honour  they  would  show  his  dead 
body.  He  could  see  the  table  laid  for  the  great 
funeral  feast  in  the  large  room  on  the  first  floor, 
the  Dean  and  his  wife  in  the  seats  of  honour,  the 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  with  the  white  frill  spread 
[  299  J 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

over  his  narrow  chest;  the  Major's  wife  in  full 
dress,  with  a  low  silk  bodice,  and  her  neck  cov- 
ered with  pearls  and  gold ;  he  saw  all  the  best 
rooms  draped  in  white — white  sheets  before  the 
windows,  white  over  the  furniture ;  branches  of 
fir  strewn  the  whole  way  from  the  entrance-hall  to 
the  church ;  house-cleaning  and  butchering, 
brewing  and  baking  for  a  fortnight  before  the 
funeral ;  the  corpse  on  a  bier  in  the  inmost  room ; 
smoke  from  the  newly-lighted  fires  in  the  rooms ; 
the  whole  house  crowded  with  guests ;  singing 
over  the  body  whilst  the  lid  of  the  coffin  was  being 
screwed  on ;  silver  plates  on  the  coffin ;  twenty 
loads  of  wood  burned  in  a  fortnight ;  the  whole 
village  busy  cooking  food  to  take  to  the  funeral ; 
all  the  tall  hats  newly  ironed  ;  all  the  corn-brandy 
from  the  autumn  drunk  up  during  the  funeral 
feast ;  all  the  roads  crowded  with  people  as  at  fair- 
time. 

Again  the  old  man  started  up.  He  had  heard 
them  sitting  and  talking  about  him  during  the 
feast. 

*  But  how  did  he  manage  to  go  and  get  frozen 
to  death  ?  '  asked  the  Justice  of  the  Peace.  '  What 
could  he  have  been  doing  in  the  large  forest? ' 

And  the  Captain  would  say  that  it  was  probably 
from  Christmas  ale  and  corn-brandy.  And  that 
roused  him  again.  The  Ingmars  had  never  been 
drunkards.  It  should  never  be  said  of  him  that 
he  was  muddled  in  his  last  moments.  And  he  be- 
gan again  to  walk  and  walk  ;  but  he  was  so  tired 
that  he  could  scarcely  stand  on  his  legs.  It  was 
quite  clear  to  him  now  that  he  had  got  far  into 
the  forest,  for  there  were  no  paths  anywhere,  but 
[  300  ] 


The  PEACE  of  GOD 

many  large  rocks,  of  which  he  knew  there  were 
none  lower  down.  His  foot  caught  between  two 
stones,  so  that  he  had  difficulty  in  getting  it  out, 
and  he  stood  and  moaned.  He  was  quite  done 
for. 

Suddenly  he  fell  over  a  heap  of  fagots.  He  fell 
softly  on  to  the  snow  and  branches,  so  he  was  not 
hurt,  but  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  get  up 
again.  He  had  no  other  desire  in  the  world  than 
to  sleep.  He  pushed  the  fagots  to  one  side  and 
crept  under  them  as  if  they  were  a  rug ;  but  when 
he  pushed  himself  under  the  branches  he  felt  that 
underneath  there  was  something  warm  and  soft. 
This  must  be  a  bear,  he  thought. 

He  felt  the  animal  move,  and  heard  it  sniff  ;  but 
he  lay  still.  The  bear  might  eat  him  if  it  liked,  he 
thought.  He  had  not  strength  enough  to  move  a 
single  step  to  get  out  of  its  way. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  the  bear  did  not  want  to 
harm  anyone  who  sought  its  protection  on  such  a 
night  as  this.  It  moved  a  little  further  into  its  lair, 
as  if  to  make  room  for  its  visitor,  and  directly 
afterwards  it  slept  again  with  even,  snorting 
breath. 


In  the  meantime  there  was  but  scanty  Christ- 
mas joy  in  the  old  farm  of  the  Ingmars.  The 
whole  of  Christmas-eve  they  were  looking  for 
Ingmar  Ingmarson.  First  they  went  all  over  the 
dwelling-house  and  all  the  outhouses.  They 
searched  high  and  low,  from  loft  to  cellar.  Then 
they  went  to  the  neighbouring  farms  and  inquired 
for  Ingmar  Ingmarson. 

I  301  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

As  they  did  not  find  him,  his  sons  and  his  sons- 
in-law  went  into  the  fields  and  roads.  They  used 
the  torches  which  should  have  lighted  the  way  for 
people  going  to  early  service  on  Christmas  morn- 
ing in  the  search  for  him.  The  terrible  snowstorm 
had  hidden  all  traces,  and  the  howling  of  the  wind 
drowned  the  sound  of  their  voices  when  they 
called  and  shouted.  They  were  out  and  about 
until  long  after  midnight,  but  then  they  saw  that 
it  was  useless  to  continue  the  search,  and  that  they 
must  wait  until  daylight  to  find  the  old  man. 

At  the  first  pale  streak  of  dawn  everybody  was 
up  at  Ingmar's  farm,  and  the  men  stood  about  the 
yard  ready  to  set  out  for  the  wood.  But  before 
they  started  the  old  housewife  came  and  called 
them  into  the  best  room.  She  told  them  to  sit 
down  on  the  long  benches  ;  she  herself  sat  down 
by  the  Christmas  table  with  the  Bible  in  front  of 
her  and  began  to  read.  She  tried  her  best  to  find 
something  suitable  for  the  occasion,  and  chose 
the  story  of  the  man  who  was  travelling  from 
Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  and  fell  among  thieves. 

She  read  slowly  and  monotonously  about  the 
unfortunate  man  who  was  succoured  by  the  good 
Samaritan.  Her  sons  and  sons-in-law,  her 
daughters  and  daughters-in-law,  sat  around  her 
on  the  benches.  They  all  resembled  her  and  each 
other,  big  and  clumsy,  with  plain,  old-fashioned 
faces,  for  they  all  belonged  to  the  old  race  of  the 
Ingmars.  They  had  all  reddish  hair,  freckled 
skin,  and  light-blue  eyes  with  white  eyelashes. 
They  might  be  different  enough  from  each  other 
in  some  ways,  but  they  had  all  a  stern  look  about 
the  mouth,  dull  eyes,  and  heavy  movements,  as  if 
[  302  ] 


rhe  PEACE  of  GOD 

everything  were  a  trouble  to  them.  But  one  could 
see  that  they  all,  every  one  of  them,  belonged  to 
the  first  people  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  that 
they  knew  themselves  to  be  better  than  other 
people. 

All  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  house  of  Ing- 
mar  sighed  deeply  during  the  reading  of  the  Bible. 
They  wondered  if  some  good  Samaritan  had 
found  the  master  of  the  house  and  taken  care  of 
him,  for  all  the  Ingmars  felt  as  if  they  had  lost  part 
of  their  own  soul  when  a  misfortune  happened  to 
anyone  belonging  to  the  family. 

The  old  woman  read  and  read,  and  came  to  the 
question  :  '  Who  was  neighbour  unto  him  that  fell 
amongst  thieves  ?  '  But  before  she  had  read  the 
answer  the  door  opened  and  old  Ingmar  came 
into  the  room. 

'  Mother,  here  is  father,'  said  one  of  the  daugh- 
ters ;  and  the  answer,  that  the  man's  neighbour 
was  he  who  had  shown  mercy  unto  him,  was 
never  read. 


Later  in  the  day  the  housewife  sat  again  in  the 
same  place,  and  read  her  Bible.  She  was  alone ; 
the  women  had  gone  to  church,  and  the  men  were 
bear-hunting  in  the  forest.  As  soon  as  Ingmar 
Ingmarson  had  eaten  and  drunk,  he  took  his  sons 
with  him  and  went  out  to  the  forest ;  for  it  is  every 
man's  duty  to  kill  a  bear  wherever  and  whenever 
he  comes  across  one.  It  does  not  do  to  spare  a 
bear,  for  sooner  or  later  it  will  get  a  taste  for  flesh, 
and  then  it  will  spare  neither  man  nor  beast. 

But  after  they  were  gone  a  great  feeling  of  fear 
[  303  ] 


from  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

came  over  the  old  housewife,  and  she  began  to 
read  her  Bible.  She  read  the  lesson  for  the  day, 
which  was  also  the  text  for  the  Pastor's  sermon ; 
but  she  did  not  get  further  than  this :  '  Peace  on 
earth,  goodwill  towards  men.'  She  remained  sit- 
ting and  staring  at  these  words  with  her  dull  eyes, 
now  and  again  sighing  deeply.  She  did  not  read 
any  further,  but  she  repeated  time  after  time  in 
her  slow,  drawling  voice,  *  Peace  on  earth,-  good- 
will towards  men.' 

The  eldest  son  came  into  the  room  just  as  she 
was  going  to  repeat  the  words  afresh. 

'  Mother !  '  he  said  softly. 

She  heard  him,  but  did  not  take  her  eyes  from 
the  book  whilst  she  asked : 

'  Are  you  not  with  the  others  in  the  forest? ' 

*  Yes,'  said  he,  still  more  softly,  '  I  have  been 
there.' 

'  Come  to  the  table/  she  said, '  so  that  I  can  see 
you.' 

He  came  nearer,  but  when  she  looked  at  him 
she  saw  that  he  was  trembling.  He  had  to  press 
his  hands  hard  against  the  edge  of  the  table  in 
order  to  keep  them  still. 

'  Have  you  got  the  bear?  '  she  asked  again. 

He  could  not  answer;  he  only  shook  his  head. 

The  old  woman  got  up  and  did  what  she  had 
not  done  since  her  son  was  a  child.  She  went  up 
to  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  drew  him 
to  the  bench.  She  sat  down  beside  him  and  took 
his  hand  in  hers. 

'  Tell  me  now  what  has  happened,  my  boy.' 

The  young  man  recognised  the  caress  which 
had  comforted  him  in  bygone  days  when  he  had 
[  304  ] 


The  PEACE  of  GOD 

been  in  trouble  and  unhappy,  and  he  was  so  over- 
come that  he  began  to  weep. 

*  I  suppose  it  is  something  about  father? '  she 
said. 

'  It  is  worse  than  that/  the  son  sobbed. 

'  Worse  than  that  ? ' 

The  young  man  cried  more  and  more  violently ; 
he  did  not  know  how  to  control  his  voice.  At  last 
he  lifted  his  rough  hand,  with  the  broad  fingers, 
and  pointed  to  what  she  had  just  read :  '  Peace 
on  earth.     .     .     .' 

'  Is  it  anything  about  that?  '  she  asked. 

*  Yes,'  he  answered. 

'  Is  it  anything  about  the  peace  of  Christmas? ' 
'  Yes.' 

*  You  wished  to  do  an  evil  deed  this  morning? ' 

*  Yes.' 

'  And  God  has  punished  us  ? ' 

*  God  has  punished  us.' 

So  at  last  she  was  told  how  it  had  happened. 
They  had  with  some  trouble  found  the  lair  of  the 
bear,  and  when  they  had  got  near  enough  to  see 
the  heap  of  fagots,  they  stopped  in  order  to  load 
their  guns.  But  before  they  were  ready  the  bear 
rushed  out  of  its  lair  straight  against  them.  It 
went  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but 
straight  for  old  Ingmar  Ingmarson,  and  struck 
him  a  blow  on  the  top  of  the  head  that  felled  him 
to  the  ground  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by  light- 
ning. It  did  not  attack  any  of  the  others,  but 
rushed  past  them  into  the  forest. 

***** 

In  the  afternoon  Ingmar  Ingmarson's  wife  and 
son  drove  to  the  Dean's  house  to  announce  his 
I  305  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

death.  The  son  was  spokesman,  and  the  old 
housewife  sat  and  listened  with  a  face  as  im- 
movable as  a  stone  figure. 

The  Dean  sat  in  his  easy-chair  near  his  writing- 
table.  He  had  entered  the  death  in  the  register. 
He  had  done  if  rather  slowly  ;  he  wanted  time  to 
consider  what  he  should  say  to  the  widow  and  the 
son,  for  this  was,  indeed,  an  unusual  case.  The 
son  had  frankly  told  him  how  it  had  all  happened, 
but  the  Dean  was  anxious  to  know  how  they 
themselves  looked  at  it.  They  were  peculiar  peo- 
ple, the  Ingmars. 

When  the  Dean  had  closed  the  book,  the  son 
said: 

'  We  wanted  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  we  do  not  wish 
any  account  of  father's  life  to  be  read  in  church.' 

The  Dean  pushed  his  spectacles  over  his  fore- 
head and  looked  searchingly  at  the  old  woman. 
She  sat  just  as  immovable  as  before.  She  only 
crumpled  the  handkerchief  a  little  which  she 
held  in  her  hand. 

'  We  wish  to  have  him  buried  on  a  week  day,' 
continued  the  son. 

'  Indeed  ! '  said  the  Dean. 

He  could  hardly  believe  his  own  ears.  Old 
Ingmar  Ingmarson  to  be  buried  without  anyone 
taking  any  notice  of  it !  The  congregation  not  to 
stand  on  railings  and  mounds  in  order  to  see  the 
display  when  he  was  being  carried  to  the  grave! 

'  There  will  not  be  any  funeral  feast.  We  have 
let  the  neighbours  know  that  they  need  not  think 
of  preparing  anything  for  the  funeral.' 

'  Indeed,  indeed ! '  said  the  Dean  again. 

He  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say.  He 
I  306] 


The  PEACE  of  GOD 

knew  quite  well  what  it  meant  for  such  people  to 
forego  the  funeral  feast.  He  had  seen  both  wid- 
ows and  fatherless  comforted  by  giving  a  splendid 
funeral  feast. 

'  There  will  be  no  funeral  procession,  only  I  and 
my  brothers.' 

The  Dean  looked  almost  appealingly  at  the  old 
woman.  Could  she  really  be  a  party  to  all  this? 
He  asked  himself  if  it  could  be  her  wishes  to  which 
the  son  had  given  expression.  She  was  sitting 
there  and  allowing  herself  to  be  robbed  of  what 
must  be  dearer  to  her  than  gold  and  silver. 

'  We  will  not  have  the  bells  rung,  or  any  silver 
plates  on  the  cofifin.  Mother  and  I  wish  it  to  be 
done  in  this  way,  but  we  tell  you  all  this,  sir,  in 
order  to  hear,  sir,  if  you  think  we  are  wronging 
father.' 

Now  the  old  woman  spoke : 

'  We  should  like  to  hear  if  your  Reverence 
thinks  we  are  doing  father  a  wrong.' 

The  Dean  remained  silent,  and  the  old  woman 
continued,  more  eagerly : 

'  I  must  tell  your  Reverence  that  if  my  husband 
had  sinned  against  the  King  or  the  authorities,  or 
if  I  had  been  obliged  to  cut  him  down  from  the 
gallows,  he  should  all  the  same  have  had  an  hon- 
ourable funeral,  as  his  father  before  him,  for  the 
Ingmars  are  not  afraid  of  anyone,  and  they  need 
not  go  out  of  their  way  for  anybody.  But  at 
Christmas  God  has  made  peace  between  man  and 
beast,  and  the  poor  beast  kept  God's  command- 
ment, whilst  we  broke  it,  and  therefore  we  now 
suffer  God's  punishment ;  and  it  is  not  becoming 
for  us  to  show  any  ostentatious  display.' 

[  307  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

The  Dean  rose  and  went  up  to  the  old  woman. 

'  What  you  say  is  right,'  he  said, '  and  you  shall 
follow  the  dictates  of  your  own  conscience.'  And 
involuntarily  he  added,  perhaps  most  to  himself : 
'  The  Ingmars  are  a  grand  family.' 

The  old  woman  straightened  herself  a  little  at 
these  words.  At  that  moment  the  Dean  saw  in 
her  the  symbol  of  her  whole  race.  He  understood 
what  it  was  that  had  made  these  heavy,  silent  peo- 
ple, century  after  century,  the  leaders  of  the  whole 
parish. 

'  It  behooves  the  Ingmars  to  set  the  people  a 
good  example,'  she  said.  '  It  behooves  us  to  show 
that  we  humble  ourselves  before  God.' 


308 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

VIII 
A  ^TOKY  from  Halstanas 


A  Story  from  Halstanas 

IN  olden  times  there  stood  by  the  roadside  an 
old  country-house  called  Halstanas.  It  com- 
prised a  long  row  of  red-painted  houses, 
which  were  of  low  structure,  and  right  behind 
them  lay  the  forest.  Close  to  the  dwelling-house 
was  a  large  wild  cherry-tree,  which  showered  its 
black  fruit  over  the  red-tiled  roof.  A  bell  under  a 
small  belfry  hung  over  the  gable  of  the  stables. 

Just  outside  the  kitchen-door  was  a  dovecote, 
with  a  neat  little  trelliswork  outside  the  holes. 
From  the  attic  a  cage  for  squirrels  was  hanging; 
it  consisted  of  two  small  green  houses  and  a 
large  wheel,  and  in  front  of  a  big  hedge  of  lilacs 
stood  a  long  row  of  beehives  covered  with  bark. 

There  was  a  pond  belonging  to  the  farm,  full  of 
fat  carp  and  slim  water-snakes ;  there  was  also  a 
kennel  at  the  entrance  ;  there  were  white  gates  at 
the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  at  the  garden  walks, 
and  in  every  place  where  they  could  possibly  have 
a  gate.  There  were  big  lofts  with  dark  lumber- 
rooms,  where  old-fashioned  uniforms  and  ladies' 
head-gear  a  hundred  years  old  were  stored  away  ; 
there  were  large  chests  full  of  silk  gowns  and 
bridal  finery ;  there  were  old  pianos  and  violins, 
guitars  and  bassoons.  In  bureaus  and  cabinets 
were  manuscript  songs  and  old  yellow  letters ;  on 
the  walls  of  the  entrance-hall  hung  guns,  pistols 
and  hunting-bags ;  on  the  floor  were  rugs,  in 
which  patches  of  old  silken  gowns  were  woven 

[311  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

together  with  pieces  of  threadbare  cotton  curtains. 
There  was  a  large  porch,  where  the  deadly  night- 
shade summer  after  summer  grew  up  a  thin 
trelliswork  ;  there  were  large,  yellow  front-doors, 
which  were  fastened  with  bolts  and  catches ;  the 
hall  was  strewn  with  sprigs  of  juniper,  and  the 
windows  had  small  panes  and  heavy  wooden 
shutters. 

One  summer  old  Colonel  Beerencreutz  came  on 
a  visit  to  this  house.  It  is  supposed  to  have  been 
the  very  year  after  he  left  Ekeby.  At  that  time  he 
had  taken  rooms  at  a  farm  at  Svartsjo,  and  it  was 
only  on  rare  occasions  that  he  went  visiting.  He 
still  had  his  horse  and  gig,  but  he  scarcely  ever 
used  them.  He  said  that  he  had  grown  old  in 
earnest  now,  and  that  home  was  the  best  place  for 
old  people. 

Beerencreutz  was  also  loath  to  leave  the  work 
he  had  in  hand.  He  was  weaving  rugs  for  his  tv/o 
rooms — large,  many-coloured  rugs  in  a  rich  and 
strangely-thought-out  pattern.  It  took  him  an 
endless  time,  because  he  had  his  own  way  of  weav- 
ing, for  he  used  no  loom,  but  stretched  his  wool 
from  the  one  wall  to  the  other  right  across  the  one 
room.  He  did  this  in  order  to  see  the  whole  rug 
at  one  time  ;  but  to  cross  the  woof  and  afterwards 
bring  the  threads  together  to  a  firm  web  was  no 
easy  matter.  And  then  there  was  the  pattern, 
which  he  himself  thought  out,  and  the  colours 
which  should  match.  This  took  the  Colonel  more 
time  than  anyone  would  have  imagined  ;  for  whilst 
Beerencreutz  was  busy  getting  the  pattern  right, 
and  whilst  he  was  working  with  warp  and  woof,  he 
often  sat  and  thought  of  God.  Our  Lord,  he 
[  312  J 


A  STORY  from  HALSTANAS 

thought,  was  likewise  sitting  at  a  loom,  still 
larger,  and  with  an  even  more  peculiar  pattern  to 
weave.  And  he  knew  that  there  must  be  both 
light  and  dark  shades  in  that  weaving.  But  Beer- 
encreutz  would  at  times  sit  and  think  so  long 
about  this,  until  he  fancied  he  saw  before  him  his 
own  life  and  the  hfe  of  the  people  whom  he  had 
known,  and  with  whom  he  had  lived,  forming  a 
small  portion  of  God's  great  weaving ;  and  he 
seemed  to  see  that  piece  so  distinctly  that  he  could 
discern  both  outlines  and  colouring.  And  if  one 
asked  Beerencreutz  what  the  pattern  in  his  work 
really  meant,  he  would  be  obliged  to  confess  that 
it  was  the  life  of  himself  and  his  friends  which  he 
wove  into  the  rug  as  a  faint  imitation  of  what  he 
thought  he  had  seen  represented  on  God's  loom. 

The  Colonel,  however,  was  accustomed  to  pay 
a  little  visit  to  some  old  friends  every  year  just 
after  midsummer.  He  had  always  liked  best  to 
travel  through  the  country  when  the  fields  were 
still  scented  with  clover,  and  blue  and  yellow  flow- 
ers grew  along  the  roadside  in  two  long  straight 
rows. 

This  year  the  Colonel  had  hardly  got  to  the 
great  highroad  before  he  met  his  old  friend  En- 
sign von  Orneclou.  And  the  Ensign,  who  was 
travelling  about  all  the  year  round,  and  who  knew 
all  the  country  houses  in  Varmland,  gave  him 
some  good  advice. 

'  Go  to  Halstanas  and  call  upon  Ensign  Vest- 
blad,'  he  said  to  the  Colonel.  '  I  can  only  tell  you, 
old  man,  I  don't  know  a  house  in  the  whole  coun- 
try where  one  fares  better.' 

'What  Vestblad  are  you  speaking  about?' 
[  Z'^Z  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

asked  the  Colonel.  '  I  suppose  you  don't  mean 
the  old  Ensign  whom  the  Major's  wife  showed 
the  door?  ' 

'  The  very  man,'  said  the  Ensign.  '  But  Vest- 
blad  is  not  the  same  man  he  was.  He  has  married 
a  fine  lady — a  real  stunning  woman,  Colonel — 
who  has  made  a  man  of  him.  It  was  a  wonderful 
piece  of  good  luck  for  Vestblad  that  such  a  splen 
did  girl  should  take  a  fancy  to  him.  She  was  not 
exactly  young  any  longer;  but  no  more  was  he. 
You  should  go  to  Halstanas,  Colonel,  and  see 
what  wonders  love  can  work.' 
,,  And  the  Colonel  went  to  Halstanas  to  see  if 
Orneclou  spoke  the  truth.  He  had,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  now  and  then  wondered  what  had  become 
of  Vestblad ;  in  his  young  days  he  had  kicked  so 
recklessly  over  the  traces  that  even  the  Major's 
wife  at  Ekeby  could  not  put  up  with  him.  She 
had  not  been  able  to  keep  him  at  Ekeby  more  than 
a  couple  of  years  before  she  was  obliged  to  turn 
him  out.  Vestblad  had  become  such  a  heavy 
drinker  that  a  Cavalier  could  hardly  associate  with 
him.  And  now  Orneclou  declared  that  he  owned 
a  country  house,  and  had  made  an  excellent 
match. 

The  Colonel  consequently  went  to  Halstanas, 
and  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  it  was  a  real  old 
country-seat.  He  had  only  to  look  at  the  avenue 
of  birches  with  all  the  names  cut  on  the  fine  old 
trees.  Such  birches  he  had  only  seen  at  good  old 
country-houses.  The  Colonel  drove  slowly  up  to 
the  house,  and  every  moment  his  pleasure  in- 
creased. He  saw  lime  hedges  of  the  proper  kind, 
so  close  that  one  could  walk  on  the  top  of  them, 
[314] 


A  STORY  from  HALSTANAS 

and  there  were  a  couple  of  terraces  with  stone 
steps  so  old  that  they  were  half  buried  in  the 
ground.  When  the  Colonel  drove  past  the  pond, 
he  saw  indistinctly  the  dark  carp  in  the  yellowish 
water.  The  pigeons  flew  up  from  the  road  flap- 
ping their  wings  ;  the  squirrel  stopped  its  wheel ; 
the  watch-dog  lay  with  its  head  on  its  paws,  wag- 
ging its  tail,  and  at  the  same  time  faintly  growl- 
ing. Close  to  the  porch  the  Colonel  saw  an  ant- 
hill, where  the  ants,  unmolested,  went  to  and  fro 
— to  and  fro.  He  looked  at  the  flower-beds  inside 
the  grass  border.  There  they  grew,  all  the  old 
flowers  :  narcissus  and  pyrola,  sempervivum  and 
marigold ;  and  on  the  bank  grew  small  white 
daisies,  which  had  been  there  so  long  that  they 
now  sowed  themselves  like  weeds.  Beerencreutz 
again  said  to  himself  that  this  was  indeed  a  real 
old  country-house,  where  both  plants  and  animals 
and  human  beings  throve  as  well  as  could  be. 

When  at  last  he  drove  up  to  the  front-door  he 
had  as  good  a  reception  as  he  could  wish  for,  and 
as  soon  as  he  had  brushed  the  dust  ofif  him  he  was 
taken  to  the  dining-room,  and  he  was  offered 
plenty  of  good  old-fashioned  food — the  same  old 
cakes  for  dessert  that  his  mother  used  to  give  him 
when  he  came  home  from  school ;  and  any  so 
good  he  had  never  tasted  elsewhere. 

Beerencreutz  looked  with  surprise  at  Ensign 
Vestblad.  He  went  about  quiet  and  content,  witli 
a  long  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  a  skull-cap  on  his 
head.  He  wore  an  old  morning-coat,  which  he 
had  difficulty  in  getting  out  of  when  it  was  time 
to  dress  for  dinner.  That  was  the  only  sign  of  the 
Bohemian  left,  as  far  as  Beerencreutz  could  see, 
f3i5l 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

He  went  about  and  looked  after  his  men,  calcu- 
lated their  wages,  saw  how  things  were  getting  on 
in  the  fields  and  meadows,  gathered  a  rose  for  his 
wife  when  he  went  through  the  garden,  and  he  in- 
dulged no  longer  in  either  swearing  or  spitting. 
But  what  astonished  the  Colonel  most  of  all  was 
the  discovery  that  old  Ensign  Vestblad  kept  his 
books.  He  took  the  Colonel  into  his  office  and 
showed  him  large  books  with  red  backs.  And 
those  he  kept  himself.  He  had  lined  them  with 
red  ink  and  black  ink,  written  the  headings  with 
large  letters,  and  put  down  everything,  even  to  a 
stamp. 

But  Ensign  Vestblad's  wife,  who  was  a  born 
lady,  called  Beerencreutz  cousin,  and  they  soon 
found  out  the  relationship  between  them ;  and 
they  talked  all  their  relatives  over.  At  last  Beer- 
encreutz became  so  intimate  with  Mrs.  Vestblad 
that  he  consulted  her  about  the  rug  he  was  weav- 
ing. 

It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  the  Colonel 
should  stay  the  night.  He  was  taken  to  the  best 
spare  room  to  the  right  of  the  hall  and  close  to  his 
host's  bedroom,  and  his  bed  was  a  large  four- 
poster,  with  heaps  of  eiderdowns. 

The  Colonel  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  he  got  into 
bed,  but  awoke  later  on  in  the  night.  He  imme- 
diately got  out  of  bed  and  went  and  opened  the 
window-shutters.  He  had  a  view  over  the  garden, 
and  in  the  light  summer  night  he  could  see  all  the 
gnarled  old  apple-trees,  with  their  worm-eaten 
leaves,  and  with  numerous  props  under  the  de- 
cayed branches.  He  saw  the  large  wild  apple- 
tree,  which  in  the  autumn  would  give  barrels  of 
t3i6] 


A  STORY  from  HALSTANAS 

uneatable  fruit ;  he  saw  the  strawberries,  which 
had  just  begun  to  ripen  under  their  profusion  of 
green  leaves. 

The  Colonel  stood  and  looked  at  it  as  if  he 
could  not  aflford  to  waste  his  time  in  sleeping. 
Outside  his  window  at  the  peasant  farm  where  he 
lived  all  he  could  see  was  a  stony  hill  and  a  couple 
of  juniper-bushes ;  and  it  was  natural  that  a  man 
like  Beerencreutz  should  feel  more  at  home 
amongst  well-trimmed  hedges  and  roses  in 
bloom. 

When  in  the  quiet  stillness  of  the  night  one 
looks  out  upon  a  garden,  one  often  has  a  feeling 
that  it  is  not  real  and  natural.  It  can  be  so  still 
that  one  can  almost  fancy  one's  self  in  the  theatre  ; 
one  imagines  that  the  trees  are  painted  and  the 
roses  made  of  paper.  And  it  was  something  like 
this  the  Colonel  felt  as  he  stood  there.  '  It  can- 
not be  possible,'  he  thought,  '  that  all  this  is  real. 
It  can  only  be  a  dream.'  But  then  a  few  rose- 
leaves  fell  softly  to  the  ground  from  the  big  rose- 
tree  just  outside  his  window,  and  then  he  realized 
that  everything  was  genuine.  Everything  was 
real  and  genuine ;  both  day  and  night  the  same 
peace  and  contentment  everywhere. 

When  he  went  and  laid  down  again  he  left  the 
window-shutters  open.  He  lay  in  the  high  bed 
and  looked  time  after  time  at  the  rose-tree ;  it  is 
impossible  to  describe  his  pleasure  in  looking  at 
it.  He  thought  what  a  strange  thing  it  was  that 
such  a  man  as  Vestblad  should  have  this  flower  of 
Paradise  outside  his  window. 

The  more  the  Colonel  thought  of  Vestblad  the 
more  surprised  he  became  that  such  a  foal  should 
[317] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

end  his  days  in  such  a  stable.  He  was  not  good 
for  much  at  the  time  he  was  turned  away  from 
Ekeby.  Who  would  have  thought  he  would  have 
become  a  staid  and  well-to-do  man? 

The  Colonel  lay  and  laughed  to  himself,  and 
wondered  whether  Vestblad  still  remembered 
how  he  used  to  amuse  himself  in  the  olden  days 
when  he  was  living  at  Ekeby.  On  dark  and 
stormy  nights  he  used  to  rub  himself  over  with 
phosphorus,  mount  a  black  horse,  and  ride  over 
the  hills  to  the  ironworks,  where  the  smiths  and 
the  workmen  lived ;  and  if  anyone  happened  to 
look  out  of  his  window  and  saw  a  horseman  shin- 
ing with  a  bluish-white  light  tearing  past,  he 
hastened  to  bar  and  bolt  everywhere,  saying  it 
was  best  to  say  one's  prayers  twice  that  night, 
for  the  devil  was  abroad. 

Oh  yes,  to  frighten  simple  folks  by  such  tricks 
was  a  favourite  amusement  in  olden  days;  but 
Vestblad  had  carried  his  jokes  further  than  any- 
one else  the  Colonel  knew  of. 

An  old  woman  on  the  parish  had  died  at  Viksta, 
which  belonged  to  Ekeby.  Vestblad  happened  to 
hear  about  this.  He  also  heard  that  the  corpse 
had  been  taken  from  the  house  and  placed  in  a 
barn.  At  night  Vestblad  put  on  his  fiery  array, 
mounted  his  black  horse,  and  rode  to  the  farm- 
stead ;  and  people  there  who  were  about  had  seen 
a  fiery  horseman  ride  up  to  the  barn,  where  the 
corpse  lay,  ride  three  times  round  it  and  disappear 
through  the  door.  They  had  also  seen  the  horse- 
man come  out  again,  ride  three  times  round  the 
house  and  then  disappear.  But  in  the  morning, 
when  they  went  into  the  barn  to  see  the  corpse,  it 
[318] 


A  STORY  from  HALSTANAS 

was  gone,  and  they  thought  the  devil  had  been 
there  and  carried  her  off.  This  supposition  had 
been  enough  for  them.  But  a  couple  of  weeks 
later  they  found  the  body,  which  had  been  thrown 
on  to  a  hay-loft  in  the  barn,  and  then  there  was  a 
great  outcry.  They  found  out  who  the  fiery 
horseman  was,  and  the  peasants  were  on  the 
watch  to  give  Vestblad  a  good  hiding.  But  the 
Major's  wife  would  not  have  him  at  her  table  or 
in  her  house  any  longer ;  she  packed  his  knapsack 
and  asked  him  to  betake  himself  elsewhere.  And 
Vestblad  went  out  into  the  world  and  made  his 
fortune. 

A  strange  feeling  of  uneasiness  came  over  the 
Colonel  as  he  lay  in  bed.  He  felt  as  if  something 
were  going  to  happen.  He  had  hardly  realized 
before  what  an  ugly  story  it  was.  He  had  no 
doubt  even  laughed  at  it  at  the  time.  They  had 
not  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  much  notice  of 
what  happened  to  a  poor  old  pauper  in  those 
clays ;  but,  great  God !  how  furious  one  would 
have  been  if  anybody  had  done  that  to  one's  own 
mother ! 

A  suffocating  feeling  came  over  the  Colonel ; 
he  breathed  heavily.  The  thought  of  what  Vest- 
blad had  done  appeared  so  vile  and  hateful  to  him, 
it  weighed  him  down  like  a  nightmare.  He  was 
half  afraid  of  seeing  the  dead  woman,  of  seeing 
her  appear  from  behind  the  bed.  He  felt  as  if  she 
must  be  quite  near.  And  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  room  the  Colonel  heard  terrible  words  :  '  God 
will  not  forgive  it !   God  has  never  forgotten  it !  ' 

The  Colonel  closed  his  eyes,  but  then  he  sud- 
denly saw  before  him  God's  great  loom,  where 

[  319  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

the  web  was  woven  with  the  fates  of  men  ;  and  he 
thought  he  saw  Ensign  Vestblad's  square,  and  it 
was  dark  on  three  sides ;  and  he,  who  understood 
something  about  weaving  and  patterns,  knew  that 
the  fourth  side  would  also  have  to  be  covered  with 
the  dark  shade.  It  could  not  be  done  in  any  other 
way,  otherwise  there  would  be  a  mistake  in  the 
weaving. 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  his  forehead ;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  looked  upon  what  was  the 
hardest  and  the  most  immovable  in  all  the  world. 
He  saw  how  the  fate  which  a  man  has  worked  out 
in  his  past  life  will  pursue  him  to  the  end.  And  to 
think  there  were  actually  people  who  thought  they 
could  escape  it! 

Escape  it !  escape  !  All  was  noted  and  written 
down ;  the  one  colour  and  the  one  figure  necessi- 
tated the  other,  and  everything  came  about  as  it 
was  bound  to  come  about. 

Suddenly  Colonel  Beerencreutz  sat  up  in  bed ; 
he  would  look  at  the  flowers  and  the  roses,  and 
think  that  perhaps  our  Lord  could  forget  after 
all.  But  at  the  moment  Beerencreutz  sat  up  in 
bed  the  bedroom  door  opened,  and  one  of  the 
farm-labourers — a  stranger  to  him — put  his  head 
in  and  nodded  to  the  Colonel. 

It  was  now  so  light  that  the  Colonel  saw  the 
man  quite  distinctly.  It  was  the  most  hideous 
face  he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  small  gray  eyes 
like  a  pig,  a  flat  nose,  and  a  thin,  bristly  beard. 
One  could  not  say  that  the  man  looked  like  an 
animal,  for  animals  have  nearly  always  good 
faces,  but  still,  he  had  something  of  the  animal 
about  him.  His  lower  jaw  projected,  his  neck  was 
[  320  ] 


J  STORV  from  HALSTANAS 

thick,  and  his  forehead  was  quite  hidden  by  his 
rough,  unkempt  hair. 

He  nodded  three  times  to  the  Colonel,  and 
every  time  his  mouth  opened  with  a  broad  grin  ; 
and  he  put  out  his  hand,  red  with  blood,  and 
showed  it  triumphantly.  Up  to  this  moment  the 
Colonel  had  sat  up  in  bed  as  if  paralyzed,  but  now 
he  jumped  up  and  was  at  the  door  in  two  steps. 
But  when  he  reached  the  door,  the  fellow  was 
gone  and  the  door  closed. 

The  Colonel  was  just  on  the  point  of  raising  the 
alarm,  when  it  struck  him  that  the  door  must  be 
fastened  on  the  inside,  on  his  side,  as  he  had  him- 
self locked  it  the  night  before  ;  and  on  examining 
it,  he  found  that  it  had  not  been  unlocked. 

The  Colonel  felt  almost  ashamed  to  think  that 
in  his  old  age  he  had  begun  to  see  ghosts.  He 
went  straight  back  to  bed  again. 

When  the  morning  came,  and  he  had  break- 
fasted, the  Colonel  felt  still  more  ashamed.  He 
had  excited  himself  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had 
trembled  all  over  and  perspired  from  fear.  He 
said  not  a  word  about  it.  But  later  on  in  the 
day  he  and  Vestblad  went  over  the  estate.  As 
they  passed  a  labourer  who  was  cutting  sods  on  a 
bank  Beerencreutz  recognised  him  again.  It  was 
the  man  he  had  seen  in  the  night.  He  recognised 
feature  for  feature. 

'  I  would  not  keep  that  man  a  day  longer  in  my 
service,  my  friend,'  said  Beerencreutz,  when  they 
had  walked  a  short  distance.  And  he  told  Vest- 
blad what  he  had  seen  in  the  night.  '  I  tell  you 
this  simply  to  warn  you,  in  order  that  you  may 
dismiss  the  man.' 

I  321  ] 


Prom  a  SfTEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

But  Vestblad  would  not ;  he  was  just  the  man 
he  would  not  dismiss.  And  when  Beerencreutz 
pressed  him  more  and  more,  he  at  last  confessed 
that  he  would  not  do  anything  to  the  man,  because 
he  was  the  son  of  an  old  pauper  woman  who  had 
died  at  Viksta  close  to  Ekeby. 

'  You  no  doubt  remember  the  story  ?  '  he  added. 

'  If  that's  the  case,  I  would  rather  go  to  the  end 
of  the  world  than  live  another  day  with  that  man 
about  the  place,'  said  Beerencreutz.  An  hour 
after  he  left,  and  was  almost  angry  that  his  warn- 
ing was  not  heeded.  '  Some  misfortune  will  hap- 
pen before  I  come  here  again,'  said  the  Colonel  to 
Vestblad,  as  he  took  leave. 

Next  year,  at  the  same  time,  the  Colonel  was 
preparing  for  another  visit  to  Halstanas.  But  be- 
fore he  got  so  far,  he  heard  some  sad  news  about 
his  friends.  As  the  clock  struck  one,  a  year  after 
the  very  night  he  had  slept  there,  Ensign  Vestblad 
and  his  wife  had  been  murdered  in  their  bedroom 
by  one  of  their  labourers — a  man  with  a  neck  like 
a  bull,  a  fiat  nose,  and  eyes  like  a  pig. 


I  322  ] 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

IX 

T^he  Inscription  on  the  Grave 


The  Inscription  on  the  Grave 

NOWADAYS  no  one  ever  takes  any  notice 
of  the  little  cross  standing  in  the  corner 
of  Svartsjo  Churchyard.  People  on  their 
way  to  and  from  church  go  past  it  without  giving 
it  a  glance.  This  is  not  so  very  wonderful,  be- 
cause it  is  so  low  and  small  that  clover  and 
bluebells  grow  right  up  to  the  arms  of  the  cross, 
and  timothy-grass  to  the  very  top  of  it.  Neither 
does  anyone  think  of  reading  the  inscription 
which  stands  on  the  cross.  The  white  letters  arc 
almost  entirely  washed  out  by  the  rain,  and  it 
never  occurs  to  anyone  to  try  and  decipher  what 
is  still  left,  and  try  to  make  it  out.  But  so  it  has 
not  always  been.  The  little  cross  in  its  time  has 
been  the  cause  of  much  surprise  and  curiosity. 
There  was  a  time  when  not  a  person  put  his  foot 
inside  Svartsjo  Churchyard  without  going  up  to 
look  at  it.  And  when  one  of  the  old  people  from 
those  days  now  happens  to  see  it,  a  whole  story 
comes  back  to  him  of  people  and  events  that  have 
been  long  forgotten.  He  sees  before  him  the 
whole  of  Svartsjo  parish  in  the  lethargic  sleep  of 
winter,  covered  by  even  white  snow,  quite  a  yard 
deep,  so  that  it  is  impossible  to  discern  road  or 
pathway,  or  to  know  where  one  is  going.  It  is 
almost  as  necessary  to  have  a  compass  here  as 
at  sea.  There  is  no  difference  between  sea  and 
shore.  The  roughest  ground  is  as  even  as  the 
field  which  in  the  autumn  yielded  such  a  harvest 

[  325  1 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

of  oats.  The  charcoal-burner  living  near  the 
great  bogs  might  imagine  himself  possessed  of  as 
much  cultivated  land  as  the  richest  peasant. 

The  roads  have  left  their  secure  course  be- 
tween the  gray  fences,  and  are  running  at  random 
across  the  meadows  and  along  the  river.  Even 
on  one's  own  farm  one  may  lose  one's  way,  and 
suddenly  discover  that  on  one's  way  to  the  well 
one  has  walked  over  the  spirea-hedge  and  round 
the  little  rose-bed. 

But  nowhere  is  it  so  impossible  to  find  one's 
way  as  in  the  churchyard.  In  the  first  place,  the 
stone  wall  which  separates  it  from  the  pastor's 
field  is  entirely  buried  under  the  snow,  so  with 
that  it  is  all  one ;  and  secondly,  the  churchyard 
itself  is  only  a  simple  large,  white  plain,  where 
not  even  the  smallest  unevenness  in  the  snow- 
cover  betrays  the  many  small  mounds  and  tufts 
of  the  garden  of  the  dead. 

On  most  of  the  graves  are  iron  crosses,  from 
which  hang  small,  thin  hearts  of  tin,  whicH  the 
summer  wind  sets  in  motion.  These  little  hearts 
are  now  all  hidden  under  the  snow,  and  cannot 
tinkle  their  sad  songs  of  sorrow  and  longing. 

People  who  work  in  the  towns  have  brought 
back  with  them  to  their  dead  wreaths  with  flow- 
ers of  beads  and  leaves  of  painted  tin  ;  and  these 
wreaths  are  so  highly  treasured  that  they  are  kept 
in  small  glass  cases  on  the  graves.  But  now  all 
this  is  hidden  and  buried  under  the  snow,  and  the 
grave  that  possesses  such  an  ornament  is  in  no 
way  more  remarkable  than  any  of  the  other 
graves. 

One  or  two  lilac  bushes  raise  their  lieads  above 
[326] 


The  INSCRIPTION  on  the  GRAVE 

the  snow-cover,  but  their  little  stiff  branches  look 
so  alike,  that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  one  from  the 
other,  and  they  are  of  no  use  whatever  to  anyone 
trying  to  find  his  way  in  the  churchyard.  Old 
women  who  are  in  the  habit  of  going  on  Sundays 
to  visit  their  graves  can  only  get  a  little  way  down 
the  main  walk  on  account  of  the  snow.  There 
they  stand,  trying  to  make  out  where  their  own 
grave  lies — is  it  near  that  bush,  or  that? — and 
they  begin  to  long  for  the  snow  to  melt.  It  is 
as  if  the  one  for  whom  they  are  sorrowing  has 
gone  so  far  away  from  them,  now  that  they  can- 
not see  the  spot  where  he  lies. 

There  are  also  a  few  large  gravestones  and 
crosses  that  are  higher  than  the  snow,  but  they 
are  not  many  ;  and  as  these  are  also  covered  with 
snow,  they  cannot  be  distinguished  either. 

There  is  only  one  pathway  kept  clear  in  the 
churchyard.  It  is  the  one  leading  from  the  en- 
trance to  the  small  mortuary.  When  anyone  is 
to  be  buried  the  coffin  is  carried  into  the  mortu- 
ary, and  there  the  pastor  reads  the  service  and 
casts  the  earth  upon  the  coffin.  It  is  impossible 
to  place  the  coffin  in  the  ground  as  long  as  such 
a  winter  lasts.  It  must  remain  standing  in  the 
mortuary  until  God  sees  fit  to  thaw  the  earth, 
and  the  ground  can  be  digged  and  made  ready. 


Just  when  the  winter  was  at  its  hardest,  and  the 
churchyard  quite  inaccessible,  a  child  died  at 
Sander's,  the  ironmaster  at  Lerum  ironworks. 

The  ironworks  at  Lerum  were  large,  and 
\  327  ] 


From  a  SPTEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

Sander,  the  ironmaster,  was  a  great  man  in  that 
part  of  the  country.  He  had  recently  had  a  family 
grave  made  in  the  churchyard — a  splendid  grave, 
the  position  of  which  one  could  not  easily  forge'., 
although  the  snow  had  laid  its  thinck  carpet  over 
it.  It  was  surrounded  by  heavy,  hewn  stones, 
with  a  massive  chain  between  them,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  grave  stood  a  huge  granite  block, 
with  their  name  inscribed  upon  it.  There  was 
only  the  one  word  '  Sander,'  engraved  in  large 
letters,  but  it  could  be  seen  over  the  whole  church- 
yard. But  now  that  the  child  was  dead,  and  was 
to  be  buried,  the  ironmaster  said  to  his  wife : 

'  I  will  not  allow  this  child  to  lie  in  my  grave.' 

One  can  picture  them  both  at  that  moment.  It 
was  in  their  dining-room  at  Lerum.  The  iron- 
master was  sitting  at  the  breakfast-table  alone, 
as  was  his  wont.  His  wife,  Ebba  Sander,  was  sit- 
ting in  a  rocking-chair  at  the  window,  from  where 
she  had  a  wide  view  of  the  lake,  with  its  small 
islands  covered  with  birches. 

She  had  been  weeping,  but  when  her  husband 
said  this,  her  eyes  became  immediately  dry.  Her 
little  figure  seemed  to  shrink  from  fear,  and  she 
began  to  tremble. 

'  What  do  you  say?  What  are  you  saying? ' 
she  asked,  and  her  voice  sounded  as  if  she  were 
shivering  from  cold. 

'  I  object  to  it,'  he  said.  '  My  father  and  my 
mother  lie  there,  and  the  name  "  Sander  "  stands 
on  the  stone.  I  will  not  allow  that  child  to  lie 
there.' 

*  Oh,'  she  said,  still  trembling,  '  is  that  what 
you  have  been  thinking  about?  I  always  did 
[328  ] 


The  INSCRIPTION  on  the  GRAVE 

think  that  some  day  you  would  have  your  re- 
venge.' 

He  threw  down  his  serviette,  rose  from  the 
table,  and  stood  before  her,  broad  and  big.  It 
was  not  his  intention  to  assert  his  will  with  many 
words,  but  she  could  see,  as  he  stood  there,  that 
nothing  could  make  him  change  his  mind.  Stern, 
immovable,  obstinate  he  was  from  top  to  toe. 

'  I  will  not  revenge  myself,'  he  said,  '  only  I 
will  not  have  it.' 

'  You  speak  as  if  it  were  only  a  question  of 
removing  him  from  one  bed  to  the  other,'  she 
said.  '  He  is  dead.  It  does  not  matter  to  him 
where  he  lies,  I  suppose ;  but  for  me  it  is  ruin, 
you  know.' 

'  I  have  also  thought  of  that,'  he  said,  '  but  I 
cannot.' 

When  two  people  have  been  married,  and  have 
lived  together  for  some  years,  they  do  not  require 
many  words  to  understand  one  another.  She 
knew  it  would  be  quite  useless  to  try  and  move 
him. 

'  Why  did  you  forgive  me,  then  ? '  she  said, 
wringing  her  hands.  '  Why  did  you  let  me  stay 
with  you  as  your  wife  and  promise  to  forgive 


me 


He  knew  that  he  would  not  do  her  any  harrh. 
It  was  not  his  fault  that  he  had  now  reached  the 
limit  of  his  forbearance. 

'  Say  to  people  what  you  like,'  he  said ;  '  I 
shall  not  say  anything.  You  can  say,  if  you  like, 
that  there  is  water  in  the  vault,  or  that  there  is 
only  room  for  father  and  mother  and  you  and 
me.' 

[  329  f 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

'  And  you  imagine  that  they  will  believe  that  I  * 

'  Well,  you  must  manage  that  as  best  you  can.' 

He  was  not  angry ;  she  knew  that  he  was  not. 
It  was  only  as  he  said  :  on  that  point  he  could  not 
give  way. 

She  went  further  into  the  room,  put  her  hands 
at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  sat  gazing  out  of  the 
window  without  saying  anything.  The  terrible 
thing  is  that  so  much  happens  to  one  in  life  over 
which  one  has  no  control,  and,  above  all,  that 
something  may  spring  up  within  one's  self  over 
which  one  is  entirely  powerless.  Some  years  ago, 
when  she  was  already  a  staid  married  woman, 
love  came  to  her ;  and  what  a  love — so  violent  that 
it  was  quite  impossible  for  her  to  resist. 

Was  not  the  feeling  which  now  mastered  her 
husband — was  not  that,  after  all,  a  desire  to  be 
revenged? 

He  had  never  been  angry  with  her.  He  for- 
gave her  at  once  when  she  came  and  confessed 
her  sin. 

'  You  have  been  out  of  your  senses,'  he  said, 
and  allowed  her  to  remain  with  him  at  Lerum  as 
if  nothing  had  happened. 

But  although  it  is  easy  enough  to  say  one  for- 
gives, it  may  be  hard  to  do  so,  especially  for  one 
whose  mind  is  slow  and  heavy,  who  ponders  over 
but  never  forgets  or  gives  vent  to  his  feelings. 
Whatever  he  may  say,  and  however  much  he  may 
have  made  up  his  mind,  something  is  always  left 
within  his  heart  which  gnaws  and  longs  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  someone  else's  suffering.  She  had 
always  had  a  strange  feeling  that  it  would  have 
been  better  for  her  if  he  had  been  so  enraged  that 
[  330  ] 


The  INSCRIPTION  on  the  GRAVE 

he  had  struck  her.  Then,  perhaps,  things  could 
have  come  right  between  them.  All  these  years 
he  had  been  morose  and  irritable,  and  she  had  be- 
come frightened.  She  was  like  a  horse  between 
the  traces.  She  knew  that  behind  her  was  one 
who  held  a  whip  over  her,  even  if  he  did  not  use 
it ;  and  now  he  had  used  it.  He  had  not  been 
able  to  refrain  any  longer.  And  now  it  was  all 
over  with  her. 

Those  who  were  about  her  said  they  had  never 
seen  such  sorrow  as  hers.  She  seemed  to  be  petri- 
fied. The  whole  time  before  the  funeral  it  was 
as  if  there  were  no  real  life  in  her.  One  could  not 
tell  if  she  heard  what  was  said  to  her,  if  she  had 
any  idea  who  was  speaking  to  her.  She  did  not 
eat ;  it  was  as  if  she  felt  no  hunger.  She  went 
out  in  the  bitterest  cold  ;  she  did  not  feel  it.  But 
it  was  not  grief  that  petrified  her — it  was  fear. 

It  never  struck  her  for  a  moment  to  stay  at 
home  on  the  day  of  the  funeral.  She  must  go  to 
the  churchyard,  she  must  walk  in  the  funeral  pro- 
cession— must  go  there,  feeling  that  all  who  were 
present  expected  that  the  body  would  be  laid  in 
the  family  vault  of  the  Sanders.  She  thought 
she  would  sink  into  the  ground  at  all  the  surprise 
and  scorn  which  would  rise  up  against  her  when 
the  grave-digger,  who  headed  the  procession,  led 
the  way  to  an  out-of-the-way  grave.  An  out- 
burst of  astonishment  would  be  heard  from  every- 
body, although  it  was  a  funeral  procession : 
*  Why  is  the  child  not  going  to  be  buried  in  the 
Sanders'  family  vault  ?  '  Thoughts  would  go  back 
to  the  vague  rumours  which  were  once  circulated 
about  her.  '  There  must  have  been  something 
[  Zl^  1 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

in  them,  after  all,'  people  will  whisper  to  each 
other.  And  before  the  mourners  left  the  church- 
yard she  would  be  condemned  and  lost.  The  only 
thing  for  her  to  do  was  to  be  present  herself.  She 
would  go  there  with  a  quiet  face,  as  if  everything 
was  as  it  ought  to  be.  Then,  perhaps,  they  might 
believe  what  she  said  to  explain  the  matter.  .  .  . 

Her  husband  went  with  her  to  the  church ;  he 
had  looked  after  everything,  invited  people,  or- 
dered the  coffin,  and  arranged  who  should  be  the 
bearers.  He  was  kind  and  good  now  that  he  had 
got  his  own  way. 

It  was  on  a  Sunday.  The  service  was  over,  and 
the  mourners  had  assembled  outside  the  porch, 
where  the  cofifin  was  standing.  The  bearers  had 
placed  the  white  bands  over  their  shoulders ;  all 
people  of  any  position  had  joined  in  the  proces- 
sion, as  did  also  many  of  the  congregation.  She 
had  a  feeling  as  if  they  had  all  gathered  together 
in  order  to  accompany  a  criminal  to  the  scaflfold. 

How  they  would  all  look  at  her  when  they  came 
back  from  the  funeral !  She  was  there  to  prepare 
them  for  what  was  to  happen,  but  she  had  not 
been  able  to  utter  a  single  word.  She  felt  quite 
unable  to  speak  quietly  and  sensibly.  There  was 
only  one  thing  she  wanted :  to  scream  and  moan 
so  violently  and  loudly  that  it  could  be  heard  all 
over  the  churchyard ;  and  she  had  to  bite  her  lips 
so  as  not  to  cry  out. 

The  bells  commenced  to  ring  in  the  tower,  and 
the  procession  began  to  move.  Now  all  these 
people  would  find  it  out  without  the  slightest 
preparation.  Oh,  why  had  she  not  spoken  in 
time?  She  had  to  restrain  herself  to  the  utmost 
[  332  ] 


The  INSCRIPTION  on  the  GRAVE 

from  shouting  out  and  telling  them  that  they  must 
not  go  to  the  grave  with  the  dead  child.  Those 
who  are  dead  are  dead  and  gone.  Why  should 
her  whole  life  be  spoiled  for  the  sake  of  this  dead 
child?  They  could  put  him  in  the  earth,  where 
they  liked,  only  not  in  the  churchyard.  She  had 
a  confused  idea  that  she  would  frighten  them 
away  from  the  churchyard ;  it  was  risky  to  go 
there ;  it  was  plague-smitten  ;  there  were  marks 
of  a  wolf  in  the  snow ;  she  would  frighten  them 
as  one  frightens  children. 

She  did  not  know  where  they  had  digged  the 
child's  grave.  She  would  know  soon  enough,  she 
thought ;  and  when  the  procession  entered  the 
churchyard,  she  glanced  around  the  snow- 
covered  ground  to  see  where  there  was  a  new 
grave ;  but  she  saw  neither  path  nor  grave — noth- 
ing but  the  white  snow.  And  the  procession 
advanced  towards  the  small  mortuary.  As  many 
as  possibly  could  pressed  into  the  building  and 
saw  the  earth  cast  on  to  the  coffin.  There  was  no 
question  whatever  about  this  or  that  grave.  No 
one  found  out  that  the  little  one  which  was  now 
laid  to  rest  was  never  to  be  taken  to  the  family 
vault. 

Had  she  but  thought  of  that,  had  she  not  for- 
gotten everything  else  in  her  fear  and  terror,  then 
she  need  not  have  been  afraid,  not  for  a  single 
moment. 

'  In  the  spring,'  she  thought,  '  when  the  coffin 
has  to  be  placed  in  the  ground,  there  will  probably 
be  no  one  there  except  the  grave-digger ;  every- 
body will  think  that  the  child  is  lying  in  the 
Sanders'  vault.'  And  she  felt  that  she  was  saved. 
L  Zi2>  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

She  sank  down  sobbing  violently.  People 
looked  at  her  with  sympathy.  '  How  terribly  she 
felt  it !  '  they  said.  But  she  herself  knew  that  she 
cried  like  one  who  has  escaped  from  a  mortal 
danger. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  funeral  she  was  sitting 
in  the  twilight  in  her  accustomed  place  in  the 
dining-room,  and  as  it  grew  darker  she  caught 
herself  waiting  and  longing.  She  sat  and  listened 
for  the  child  ;  that  was  the  time  when  he  always 
used  to  come  in  and  play  with  her.  Why  did 
he  not  come  that  day?  Then  she  started.  '  Oh, 
he  is  dead,  he  is  dead !  ' 

The  next  day  she  sat  again  in  the  twilight,  and 
longed  for  him,  and  day  by  day  this  longing  grew. 
It  grew  as  the  light  does  in  the  springtime,  until 
at  last  it  filled  all  the  hours  both  of  day  and  night. 

It  almost  goes  without  saying  that  a  child  like 
hers  was  more  loved  after  death  than  whilst  it 
was  living.  While  it  was  living  its  mother  had 
thought  of  nothing  but  regaining  the  trust  and 
the  love  of  her  husband.  And  for  him  the  child 
could  never  be  a  source  of  happiness.  It  was  nec- 
essary to  keep  it  away  from  him  as  much  as 
possible ;  and  the  child  had  often  felt  he  was  in 
the  way. 

She,  who  had  failed  in  and  neglected  her  duty, 
would  show  her  husband  that  she  was  worth 
something  after  all.  She  was  always  about  in  the 
kitchen  and  in  the  weaving-room.  Where  could 
there  be  any  room,  then,  for  the  little  boy? 

But  now,  afterwards,  she  remembered  how  his 
eyes  could  beg  and  beseech.  In  the  evening  he 
liked  so  much  to  have  her  sitting  at  his  bedside, 
[  334  ] 


The  INSCRIPTION  on  the  GRAVE 

He  said  he  was  afraid  to  lie  in  the  dark ;  but  now 
it  struck  her  that  that  had  probably  only  been 
an  excuse  to  get  her  to  stay  with  him.  She  re- 
membered how  he  lay  and  tried  not  to  fall  asleep. 
Now  she  knew  that  he  kept  himself  awake  in 
order  that  he  might  lie  a  little  longer  and  feel  his 
hand  in  hers.  He  had  been  a  shrewd  little  fellow, 
young  as  he  was.  He  had  exerted  all  his  Httle 
brain  to  find  out  how  he  could  get  a  little  share 
of  her  love.  It  is  incomprehensible  that  children 
can  love  so  deeply.  She  never  understood  it 
whilst  he  was  alive. 

It  was  really  first  now  that  she  had  begun  to 
love  the  child.  It  was  first  now  that  she  was 
really  impressed  by  his  beauty.  She  would  sit 
and  dream  of  his  big,  strange  eyes.  He  had  never 
been  robust  and  ruddy  like  most  children,  but 
delicate  and  slender.  But  how  sweet  he  had  been  ! 
He  seemed  to  her  now  as  something  wonderfully 
beautiful — more  and  more  beautiful  for  every  day 
that  went.  Children  were  indeed  the  best  of  all 
in  this  world.  To  think  that  there  were  little 
beings  stretching  out  their  hands  to  everybody, 
and  thinking  good  of  all ;  that  never  ask  if  a  face 
be  plain  or  pretty,  but  are  equally  willing  to  kiss 
either,  loving  equally  old  and  young,  rich  and 
poor.    And  yet  they  were  real  little  people. 

For  every  day  that  went  she  was  drawn  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  child.  She  wished  that  the 
child  had  been  still  alive  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
she  was  not  sure  that  in  that  case  she  would  have 
been  drawn  so  near  to  it.  At  times  she  was  quite 
in  despair  at  the  thought  that  she  had  not  done 
more  for  the  child  whilst  he  was  alive.    That  was 

[  33S  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

probably  why  he  had  been  taken  from  her,  she 
thought. 

But  it  was  not  often  that  she  sorrowed  like  this. 
Earlier  in  Hfe  she  had  always  been  afraid  lest  some 
great  sorrow  should  overtake  her,  but  now  it 
seemed  to  her  that  sorrow  was  not  what  she  had 
then  thought  it  to  be.  Sorrow  was  only  to  live 
over  and  over  again  through  something  which 
was  no  more.  Sorrow  in  her  case  was  to  become 
famihar  with  her  child's  whole  being,  and  to  seek 
to  understand  him.  And  that  sorrow  had  made 
her  life  so  rich. 

What  she  was  most  afraid  of  now  was  that  time 
would  take  him  from  her  and  wipe  out  the  mem- 
ory of  him.  She  had  no  picture  of  him  ;  perhaps 
his  features  little  by  little  would  fade  for  her.  She 
sat  every  day  and  tried  to  think  how  he  looked. 
'  Do  I  see  him  exactly  as  he  was?  '  she  said. 

Week  by  week,  as  the  winter  wore  away,  she 
began  to  long  for  the  time  when  he  would  be 
taken  from  the  mortuary  and  buried  in  the 
ground,  so  that  she  could  go  to  his  grave  and 
speak  with  him.  He  should  lie  towards  the  west, 
that  was  the  most  beautiful,  and  she  would  deck 
the  grave  with  roses.  There  should  also  be  a 
hedge  round  the  grave,  and  a  seat  where  she  could 
sit  often  and  often.  People  would  perhaps  won- 
der at  it ;  but  they  were  not  to  know  that  her 
child  did  not  lie  in  the  family  grave ;  and  they 
were  sure  to  think  it  strange  that  she  placed  flow- 
ers on  an  unknown  grave  and  sat  there  for  hours. 
What  could  she  say  to  explain  it  ? 

Sometimes  she  thought  that  she  could,  perhaps, 
do  it  in  this  way :  First  she  would  go  to  the  big 
[336  ] 


The  INSCRIPTION  on  the  GRAVE 

grave  and  place  a  large  bouquet  of  flowers  on 
it,  and  remain  sitting  there  for  some  time,  and 
afterwards  she  would  steal  away  to  the  little 
grave ;  and  he  would  be  sure  to  be  content  with 
the  little  flower  she  would  secretly  give  him.  But 
even  if  he  were  satisfied  with  the  one  little  flower, 
could  she  be  ?  Could  she  really  come  quite  near 
to  him  in  this  way?  Would  he  not  notice  that 
she  was  ashamed  of  him  ?  Would  he  not  under- 
stand what  a  disgrace  his  birth  had  been  to  her? 
No,  she  would  have  to  protect  him  from  that.  He 
must  only  think  that  the  joy  of  having  possessed 
him  weighed  against  all  the  rest. 

At  last  the  winter  was  giving  way.  One  could 
see  the  spring  was  coming.  The  snow-cover  be- 
gan to  melt,  and  the  earth  to  peep  out.  It  would 
still  be  a  week  or  two  before  the  ground  was 
thawed,  but  it  would  not  be  long  now  before  the 
dead  could  be  taken  away  from  the  mortuary. 
And  she  longed — she  longed  so  exceedingly 
for  it. 

Could  she  still  picture  to  herself  how  he 
looked?  She  tried  every  day;  but  it  was  easier 
when  it  was  winter.  Now,  when  the  spring  was 
coming,  it  seemed  as  if  he  faded  away  from  her. 
She  was  filled  with  despair.  If  she  were  only  soon 
able  to  sit  by  his  grave  and  be  near  to  him 
again,  then  she  would  be  able  to  see  him  again, 
to  love  him.  Would  he  never  be  laid  in  his  little 
grave?  She  must  be  able  to  see  him  again,  see 
him  through  her  whole  life ;  she  had  no  one  else 
to  love. 

At  last  all  her  fears  and  scruples  vanished  be- 
fore this  great  longing.     She  loved,  she  loved; 

[  337  ] 


From  a  SfVEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

she  could  not  live  without  the  dead!  She  knew 
now  that  she  could  not  consider  anybody  or  any- 
thing but  him — him  alone.  And  when  the  spring 
came  in  earnest,  when  mounds  and  graves  once 
again  appeared  all  over  the  churchyard,  when  the 
little  hearts  of  the  iron  crosses  again  began  to 
tinkle  in  the  wind,  and  the  beaded  wreaths  to 
sparkle  in  their  glass  cases,  and  when  the  earth 
at  last  was  ready  to  receive  the  little  coffin,  she 
had  ready  a  black  cross  to  place  on  his  grave. 
On  the  cross  from  arm  to  arm  was  written  in  plain 
white  letters, 

'  HERE  RESTS  MY  CHILD,' 

and  underneath,  on  the  stem  of  the  cross,  stood 
her  name. 

She  did  not  mind  that  the  whole  world  would 
know  how  she  had  sinned.  Other  things  were 
of  no  consequence  to  her ;  all  she  thought  about 
was  that  she  would  now  be  able  to  pray  at  the 
grave  of  her  child. 


338  ] 


From  a  Swedish 

Homestead 

X 

T^he  Brothers 


The  Brothers 

IT  is  very  possible  that  I  am  mistaken,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  an  astonishing  number  of 
people  die  this  year.  I  have  a  feeling  that 
1  cannot  go  down  the  street  without  meeting  a 
hearse.  One  cannot  help  thinking  about  all  those 
who  are  carried  to  the  churchyard.  I  always  feel 
as  if  it  were  so  sad  for  the  dead  who  have  to  be 
buried  in  towns.  I  can  hear  how  they  moan  in 
their  coffins.  Some  complain  that  they  have  not 
had  plumes  on  the  hearse ;  some  count  up  the 
wreaths,  and  are  not  satisfied  ;  and  then  there  are 
some  who  have  only  been  followed  by  two  or 
three  carriages,  and  who  are  hurt  by  it. 

The  dead  ought  never  to  know  and  experience 
such  things ;  but  people  in  towns  do  not  at  all 
understand  how  they  ought  to  honour  those  who 
have  entered  into  eternal  rest. 

When  I  really  think  over  it  I  do  not  know  any 
place  where  they  understand  it  better  than  at 
home  in  Svartsjo.  If  you  die  in  the  parish  of 
Svartsjo  you  know  you  will  have  a  coffin  like  that 
of  everyone  else — an  honest  black  coffin  which  is 
like  the  coffins  in  which  the  country  judge  and 
the  local  magistrate  were  buried  a  year  or  two 
ago.  For  the  same  joiner  makes  all  the  coffins, 
and  he  has  only  one  pattern ;  the  one  is  made 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  other.  And  you 
know  also,  for  you  have  seen  it  so  many  times, 
that   you  will  be  carried  to   the   church   on   a 

[  341   ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

waggon  which  has  been  painted  black  for  the 
occasion.  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  at  all 
about  any  plumes.  And  you  know  that  the  whole 
village  will  follow  you  to  the  church,  and  that 
they  will  drive  as  slowly  and  as  solemnly  for  you 
as  for  a  landed  proprietor. 

But  you  will  have  no  occasion  to  feel  annoyed 
because  you  have  not  enough  wreaths,  for  they 
do  not  place  a  single  flower  on  the  coffin  ;  it  shall 
stand  out  black  and  shining,  and  nothing  must 
cover  it ;  and  it  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  think 
whether  you  will  have  a  sufficiently  large  number 
of  people  to  follow  you,  for  those  who  live  in  your 
town  will  be  sure  to  follow  you,  every  one.  Nor 
will  you  be  obliged  to  lie  and  listen  if  there  is 
lamenting  and  weeping  around  your  coffin.  They 
neveh  weep  over  the  dead  when  they  stand  on  the 
church  hill  outside  Svartsjo  Church.  No,  they 
weep  as  little  over  a  strong  young  fellow  who  falls 
a  prey  to  death  just  as  he  is  beginning  to  provide 
for  his  old  people  as  they  will  for  you.  You  will 
be  placed  on  a  couple  of  black  trestles  outside  the 
door  of  the  parish  room,  and  a  whole  crowd  of 
people  will  gradually  gather  round  you,  and  all 
the  women  will  have  handker:l:iefs  in  their  hands. 
But  no  one  will  cry ;  all  the  handkerchiefs  will 
be  kept  tightly  rolled  up  ;  not  one  will  be  applied 
to  the  eyes.  You  need  not  speculate  as  to  whether 
people  will  shed  as  many  tears  over  you  as  they 
would  over  others.  They  would  cry  if  it  were  the 
proper  thing,  but  it  is  not  the  proper  thing. 

You  can  understand  that  if  there  were  much 
sorrowing  over  one  grave,  it  would  not  look  well 
for  those  over  whom  no  one  sorrowed.  They 
[  342  ] 


The  BROTHERS 

know  what  they  were  about  at  Svartsjo.  They  do 
as  it  has  been  the  custom  to  do  there  for  many 
hundred  years.  But  whilst  you  stand  there,  on 
the  church  hill,  you  are  a  great  and  important 
personage,  although  you  receive  neither  flowers 
nor  tears.  No  one  comes  to  church  without  ask- 
ing who  you  are,  and  then  they  go  quietly  up  to 
you  and  stand  and  gaze  at  you  ;  and  it  never 
occurs  to  anyone  to  wound  the  dead  by  pitying 
him.  No  one  says  anything  but  that  it  is  well  for 
him  that  it  is  all  over. 

It  is  not  at  all  as  it  is  in  a  town,  where  you  can 
be  buried  any  day.  At  Svartsjo  you  must  be 
buried  on  a  Sunday,  so  that  you  can  have  the 
whole  parish  around  you.  There  you  will  have 
standing  near  your  coffin  both  the  girl  with  whom 
you  danced  at  the  last  midsummer  night's  festival 
and  the  man  with  whom  you  exchanged  horses 
at  the  last  fair.  You  will  have  the  schoolmaster 
who  took  so  much  trouble  with  you  when  you 
were  a  little  lad,  and  who  had  forgotten  you, 
although  you  remembered  him  so  well ;  and  you 
will  have  the  old  Member  of  Parliament  who 
never  before  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  bow 
to  you.  This  is  not  as  in  a  town,  where  peo- 
ple hardly  turn  round  when  you  are  carried  past. 
When  they  bring  the  long  bands  and  place  them 
under  the  coffin,  there  is  not  one  who  does  not 
watch  the  proceedings. 

You  cannot  imagine  what  a  churchwarden  we 
have  at  Svartsjo.  He  is  an  old  soldier,  and  he 
looks  like  a  Field-Marshal.  He  has  short  white 
hair  and  twisted  moustaches,  and  a  pointed  im- 
perial ;  he  is  slim  and  tall  and  straight,  with  a 
[  343  1 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

light  and  firm  step.  On  Sundays  he  wears  a  well- 
brushed  frock-coat  of  fine  cloth.  He  really  looks 
a  very  fine  old  gentleman,  and  it  is  he  who  walks 
at  the  head  of  the  procession.  Then  comes  the 
verger.  Not  that  the  verger  is  to  be  compared 
with  the  churchwarden.  It  is  more  than  probable 
that  his  Sunday  hat  is  too  large  and  old- 
fashioned;  as  likely  as  not  he  is  awkward — but 
when  is  a  verger  not  awkward  ? 

Then  you  come  next  in  your  coffin,  with  the 
six  bearers,  and  then  follow  the  clergyman  and 
the  clerk  and  the  Town  Council  and  the  whole 
parish.  All  the  congregation  will  follow  you  to 
the  churchyard,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  But 
I  will  tell  you  something:  All  those  who  follow 
you  look  so  small  and  poor.  They  are  not  fine 
town's-people,  you  know — only  plain,  simple 
Svartsjo  folk.  There  is  only  one  who  is  great 
and  important,  and  that  is  you  in  your  coffin — 
you  who  are  dead. 

The  others  the  next  day  will  have  to  resume 
their  heavy  and  toilsome  work.  They  will  have 
to  live  in  poor  old  cottages  and  wear  old,  patched 
clothes ;  the  others  will  always  be  plagued  and 
worried,  and  dragged  down  and  humbled  by 
poverty. 

Those  who  follow  you  to  your  grave  become 
far  more  sad  by  looking  at  the  living  than  by 
thinking  of  you  who  are  dead.  You  need  not 
look  any  more  at  the  velvet  collar  of  your  coat 
to  see  if  it  is  not  getting  worn  at  the  edges ;  you 
need  not  make  a  special  fold  of  your  silk  hand- 
kerchief to  hide  that  it  is  beginning  to  fray;  you 
will  never  more  be  compelled  to  ask  the  village 

[  344  ] 


The  BROTHERS 

shopkeeper  to  let  you  have  goods  on  credit ;  you 
will  not  find  out  that  your  strength  is  failing ;  you 
will  not  have  to  wait  for  the  day  when  you  must 
go  on  the  parish. 

While  they  are  following  you  to  the  grave 
everyone  will  be  thinking  that  it  is  best  to  be 
dead — better  to  soar  heavenwards,  carried  on  the 
white  clouds  of  the  morning — than  to  be  always 
experiencing  life's  manifold  troubles.  When  they 
come  to  the  wall  of  the  churchyard,  where  the 
grave  has  been  made,  the  bands  are  exchanged 
for  strong  ropes,  and  people  get  on  to  the  loose 
earth  and  lower  you  down.  And  when  this  has 
been  done  the  clerk  advances  to  the  grave  and 
begins  to  sing:    *  I  walk  towards  death.' 

He  sings  the  hymn  quite  alone ;  neither  the 
clergyman  nor  any  of  the  congregation  help  him. 
But  the  clerk  must  sing ;  however  keen  the  north 
wind  and  however  glaring  the  sun  which  shines 
straight  in  his  face,  sing  he  does. 

The  clerk,  however,  is  getting  old  now,  and 
he  has  not  much  voice  left ;  he  is  quite  aware  that 
it  does  not  sound  as  well  now  as  formerly  when 
he  sang  people  into  their  graves ;  but  he  does  it 
all  the  same — it  is  part  of  his  duty.  For  the  day, 
you  understand,  when  his  voice  quite  fails  him,  so 
that  he  cannot  sing  any  more,  he  must  resign 
his  office,  and  this  means  downright  poverty  for 
him.  Therefore  the  whole  gathering  stands  in 
apprehension  while  the  old  clerk  sings,  wonder- 
ing whether  his  voice  will  last  through  the  whole 
verse.  But  no  one  joins  him,  not  a  single  person, 
for  that  would  not  do ;  it  is  not  the  custom.  Peo- 
ple never  sing  at  a  grave  at  Svartsjo.    People  do 

[  345  ] 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

not  sing  in  the  church  either,  except  the  first 
hymn  on  Christmas  Day  morning. 

Still,  if  one  listened  very  attentively,  one  could 
hear  that  the  clerk  does  not  sing  alone.  There 
really  is  another  voice,  but  it  sounds  so  exactly 
the  same  that  the  two  voices  blend  as  if  they  were 
only  one.  The  other  who  sings  is  a  little  old  man 
in  a  long,  coarse  gray  coat.  He  is  still  older  than 
the  clerk,  but  he  gives  out  all  the  voice  he  has  to 
help  him.  And  the  voice,  as  I  have  told  you,  is 
exactly  the  same  kind  as  the  clerk's ;  they  are  so 
alike  one  cannot  help  wondering  at  it. 

But  when  one  looks  closer,  the  little  gray  old 
man  is  also  exactly  like  the  derk  ;  he  has  the  same 
nose  and  chin  and  mouth,  only  somewhat  older, 
and,  as  it  were,  more  hardly  dealt  with  in  life. 
And  then  one  understands  that  the  little  gray  man 
is  the  clerk's  brother ;  and  then  one  knows  why 
he  helps  him.  For,  you  see,  things  have  never 
gone  well  with  him  in  this  world,  and  he  has 
always  had  bad  luck ;  and  once  he  was  made  a 
bankrupt,  and  brought  the  clerk  into  his  mis- 
fortunes. He  knows  that  it  is  his  fault  that  his 
brother  has  always  had  to  struggle.  And  the 
clerk,  you  know,  has  tried  to  help  him  on  to  his 
legs  again,  but  with  no  avail,  for  he  has  not  been 
one  of  those  one  can  help.  He  has  always  been 
unfortunate ;  and  then,  he  has  had  no  strength 
of  purpose. 

But  the  clerk  has  been  the  shining  light  in  the 
family ;  and  for  the  other  it  has  been  a  case  of 
receiving  and  receiving,  and  he  has  never  been 
able  to  make  any  return  at  all.  Great  God !  even 
to  talk  of  making  any  return — he  who  is  so  poor ! 
[346  ] 


The  BROTHERS 

You  should  only  see  the  little  hut  in  the  forest 
where  he  lives.  He  knows  that  he  has  always 
been  dull  and  sad,  only  a  burden — only  a  burden 
for  his  brother  and  for  others.  But  now  of  late 
he  has  become  a  great  man ;  now  he  is  able  to 
give  some  return.  And  that  he  does.  Now  he 
helps  his  brother,  the  clerk,  who  has  been  the  sun- 
shine and  life  and  joy  for  him  all  his  days.  Now 
he  helps  him  to  sing,  so  that  he  may  keep  his 
office. 

He  does  not  go  to  church,  for  he  thinks  that 
everyone  looks  at  him  because  he  has  no  black 
Sunday  clothes ;  but  every  Sunday  he  goes  up 
to  the  church  to  see  whether  there  is  a  coffin  on 
the  black  trestles  outside  the  parish  room ;  and 
if  there  is  one  he  goes  to  the  grave,  in  spite  of  his 
old  gray  coat,  and  helps  his  brother  with  his  piti- 
ful old  voice. 

The  little  old  man  knows  very  well  how  badly 
he  sings ;  he  places  himself  behind  the  others, 
and  does  not  push  forward  to  the  grave.  But 
sing  he  does ;  it  would  not  matter  so  much  if  the 
clerk's  voice  should  fail  on  one  or  other  note,  his 
brother  is  there  and  helps  him. 

At  the  churchyard  no  one  laughs  at  the  sing- 
ing; but  when  people  go  home  and  have  thrown 
off  their  devoutness,  then  they  speak  about  the 
service,  and  then  they  laugh  at  the  clerk's  singing 
— laugh  both  at  his  and  his  brother's.  The  clerk 
does  not  mind  it,  it  is  the  same  to  him ;  but  his 
brother  thinks  about  it  and  suffers  from  it ;  he 
dreads  the  Sunday  the  whole  week,  but  still  he 
comes  punctually  to  the  churchyard  and  does  his 
duty.    But  you  in  your  coffin,  you  do  not  think  so 

I  .347  1 


From  a  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

badly  of  the  singing.  You  think  that  it  is  good 
music.  Is  it  not  true  that  one  would  like  to  be 
buried  in  Svartsjo,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  that 
singing? 

It  says  in  the  hymn  that  life  is  but  a  walk 
towards  death,  and  when  the  two  old  men  sing 
this — the  two  who  have  suffered  for  each  other 
during  their  whole  life — then  one  understands 
better  than  ever  before  how  wearisome  it  is  to 
live,  and  one  is  so  entirely  satisfied  with  being 
dead. 

And  then  the  singing  stops,  and  the  clergyman 
throws  earth  on  the  coffin  and  says  a  prayer  over 
you.  Then  the  two  old  voices  sing:  'I  walk 
towards  heaven.'  And  they  do  not  sing  this  verse 
any  better  than  the  former ;  their  voices  grow 
more  feeble  and  querulous  the  longer  they  sing. 
But  for  you  a  great  and  wide  expanse  opens,  and 
you  soar  upwards  with  tremulous  joy,  and  every- 
thing earthly  fades  and  disappears. 

But  still  the  last  which  you  hear  of  things 
earthly  tells  of  faithfulness  and  love.  And  in  the 
midst  of  your  trembling  flight  the  poor  song  will 
awake  memories  of  all  the  faithfulness  and  love 
you  have  met  with  here  below,  and  this  will  bear 
you  upwards.  This  will  fill  you  with  radiance  and 
make  you  beautiful  as  an  angel. 

THE  END. 


348  ] 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


Ik- 


I^"72b5  0^"^°^  4495 


SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIUTY 


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